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GIFT  OF 


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OF  BOTH  WORLDS 


POEMS 

BY 

HERMAN   SCHEFFAUER 


A.   M.   ROBERTSON 

SAN    FRANCISCO 
1903 


Copyright, 

A.  M.  ROBERTSON. 
1903. 


San  Francisco: 

C.  A.  MURDOCK  &  Co.,  Printers, 
1903. 


DEDICATED 

TO 

MY    GOOD    FRIEND 
AMBROSE    BIERCE 


KIND  WAS  YOUR  PRAISE  AND  TRUE,—  UNTO  MY  HEART 
A  BREEZE  THAT  SPOKE  ITS  EMBERS  INTO  FLAME; 

HOWE'ER  IT  BURNS  FOR  NATURE  AND  FOR  ART, 
LET  FRIENDSHIP'S  HALLOWED  COALS  THEIR  INCENSE  CLAIM. 


435394 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  SLAUGHTERED    I 

BACK,   BACK   TO    NATURE 5 

THE    REPUBLIC     7 

LYRE  OF  THE  LATTER   DAYS    IO 

DISARMAMENT      12 

THE    SLEEPERS     14 

THE   UNKNOWN 15 

CHOSEN   OF   ALL    l6 

SEA  CHANGE  17 

DE  PROFUNDIS  IQ 

MURAD  ALI  UNTO  DALJA  22 

EARTHLIGHT    26 

SHAGALON  OF  THE  POLE 2Q 

BANNERS  OF  SHASTA .  33 

THE  VALLEY  OF  YOSEMITE 35 

HURKALEM  THE  HUNTER 37 

PICKETT'S  CHARGE  40 

CRUCIFIXION    44 

THE  NIGHT-BELLS  OF  NOEL   46 

THE   HEAD  AND   HAND  OF   MURIETTA 5O 

POESY    BANISHED 53 

THE    HAPPY    HOURS     • 55 

THE  SKIPPERS 57 

THE  EARTH-VOICES    6l 

THE   INTERIM 64 

YOSEMITE      65 

SAVIOR  OF  THE   SEQUOIAS    66 

OUT  OF  CHARYBDIS 68 

SEMPER 7O 

MARTINIQUE 71 

THE  DEPARTED  ONE 72 

PHANTASMAGORIA     73 

TO  DR.  C.   W.  DOYLE 74 

ADIEU,    ADIEU !     75 


PAGE 

EPILOGUE    EVERLASTING     78 

LOVE    RESURGENT     80 

LILITH     OF    ELD     8l 

MAIDEN    OF    MADNESS     83 

COMPLAINT     85 

PAST   AND    PRESENT 86 

THE    WORM     87 

MISERERE    88 

THE  ANGEL  IN  EXILE 89 

THE  QUEST  ETERNAL .  OO 

IN  MEMORY  OF  DR.  C.  W.  DOYLE 93 

MISANTHROPOS  IN  EXTREMIS   95 

THE  WORLD-SOUL  97 

THE  DANCE  OF  THE  DEAD  99 

SONG  FROM  "  FAUST  "  IO2 

GENIUS,  LOVE  AND  HATE 104 

THE  HARPER'S  SONG   105 

THE  SECOND  THOUGHT IO6 

REVELATION   IO7 

BELLOMANIACS .  .  IO9 

RUDYARD  KIPLING   I IO 

THE    SNOB Ill 

TO  A  SHAMELESS  BARD 1 13 

MADE  IN  AMERICA 114 

"  IL  DECHIRE  LES  PAPERASSES  " 1 16 

LINES  ON  A  DEAD  DOG 117 

ELECTION  TIME  1 18 

MANIKIN  AND  MAIDKIN   119 

ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  "  PUNCH  "  121 

ST.  PATRICK'S  DAY,  1900  124 

LATRONA  STREET    127 

POEMS  IN  THE  SPIRIT  OF  POE. 

POE      131 

1.  THE   SEA   OF    SERENITY    133 

2.  INTROSPECTION      137 

3.  THE  ISLE  OF  THE  DEAD 14° 

4.  PACIFIC      143 


OF  BOTH   WORLDS 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SLAUGHTERED. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SLAUGHTERED. 


Three  were  the  terrible  things  that  spoke  and  the  three 

were  sore  in  sin, 
One  from  the  sea  and  two  from  its  shore  (and  their 

skulls  were  caven  in)  ; 
And  the  eldest  of  all  his  voice  brake  over  the  rough 

world's  rim — 
Over  the  world's  rough  rind  and  rim,  my  heart,  my 

heart  went  forth  to  him : 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SLAUGHTERED. 


I. 

"  Once  was  I  father  of  four — good  man  of  a  goodlier 

wife; 
A  ball  in  the  brain  makes  all  in  vain — hope,  happiness, 

and  life! 
Now,  on  the  hearth  of  Hell  I  hear,  and  the  hearing  is 

half  Hell's  pain ; 
'  He  died  for  his  country,  a  hero — he  sleeps  with  the 

nobly  slain ! ' 
O !  vain  is  that  lie  as  a  solace  commanders  and  con- 

querers  tell, — 
Hell  is  my  country,  ye  patriots,  and  no  heroes  have 

honor  in  Hell. 
But  on  Earth  the  blood  of  the  slaughtered  the  crimes 

of  the  State  atones, — 
Lost,  lost  to  me — as  I  to  you — my  Mary,  my  little 

ones ! " 

The  red  hands  must  be  dead  hands,  the  red  face 

must  be  gray, 

Yesterday  all  red  with  life,  white  with  death  to-day. 
What  is  a  soldier's  life? 
No  more  than  a  soldier's  wife ! 
For  his  red  hands  soon  are  dead  hands,  his  red  face 
soon  is  gray. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SLAUGHTERED. 


II. 

"  And  I  was  the  only  son  of  two  grayheads  left  behind, 
I,  whose  naked  ribs  make  a  moaning  in  the  wind. 
Deep  sank  the  sword  of  the  foeman  and  the  cords  of 

my  heart  laid  bare, 
But  my  parents'  wound  no  steel  can  sound — misery, 

woe  and  despair! 

I  gat  me  to  the  battle  with  many — and  many  did  die, 
Whiles  they  who  scribble  with  pens  saw  no  wound  and 

heard  no  cry. 
Where  the  sword  or  the  shot  slays  one,  the  pen  slays 

ninety-and-nine — 
In  the  sight  of  men  I  was  slain  by  the  pen — father  and 

mother  mine !  " 

The  red  hands  shall  be  dead  hands,  the  red  face 

shall  be  gray, 

Yesterday  all  red  with  life,  white  with  death  to-day. 
And  you  with  the  only  son, 
Where  is  that  only  one  ? 

Say  his  red  hands  now  are  dead  hands,  his  red  face 
now  is  gray. 


4  THE  SONG  OF  THE  SLAUGHTERED. 

III. 

"  Much  have  ye  lost,  ye  comrades,  yet  I  have  lost 

more  than  all — 
The  beloved  whereof  I  was  well  beloved — wormwood 

and  ashes  and  gall ! 
Ye  have  lost  what  ye  once  possessed,  and  your  memory 

slakes  your  pain, 
But  I  have  lost  what  I  never  possessed — O,  surely 

't  was  mine  to  gain ! 
And  let  her  wait  and  let  her  weep — she  weeps  not,  she 

waits  not  alone ; 
On  the  enemy's  side  I  made  many  a  bride  who  shall 

no  bridegroom  own. 
Ye  makers  of  war  and  your  masters,  take  the  curse 

re-arisen  in  me ! 
Take  the  curse  from  the  lips  of  my  loved  one,  and  the 

curse  of  the  millions  to  be !  " 

The  red  hands  must  be  dead  hands,  the  red  face 

must  be  gray, 

Yesterday  all  red  with  life,  white  with  death  to-day. 
You  on  whom  sorrow  doth  fall, 
Judge  three  and  be  judges  of  all, 
For  the  red  hands  must  be  dead  hands,  the  red  face 

must  be  gray." 
1900. 


BACK,  BACK  TO  NATURE. 


BACK,    BACK   TO    NATURE. 

Weary !  I  am  weary  of  the  madness  of  the  town, 
Deathly  weary  of  all  women  and  all  wine, 

Back,  back  to  Nature ! — I  will  go  and  lay  me  down, 
Bleeding  lay  me  down  before  her  shrine. 

For  the  mother-breast  the  hungry  babe  must  call, 
Loudly  to  the  shore  cries  the  surf  upon  the  sea ; — 

Hear,  Nature  wide  and  deep !  after  man's  mad  festival 
How  bitterly  my  soul  cries  out  for  thee ! 

Once  again  would  I  embrace  ye,  Titan  trees, 

Once  again  these  thirsting  lips  would  kiss  your  sod, 

Wet  with  tears  so  deeply-drawn,  leaping  tears  that 

freedom  frees, — 
The  sacrificial  flowers  heart-blooming  up  to  God. 

Hidden  in  the  grasses  of  the  darkest  vales  I  '11  lie, 
Silently  the  happiness  of  Earth  my  heart  shall  fill; 

Blue  eyes,  are  ye  kindred  to  the  blue,  eternal  sky 
That  looms  above  yon  Earth-contemning  hill  ? 


BACK,  BACK  TO  NATURE. 


Though  the  child  be  blinded  by  the  world-dust,  he 

shall  know 

His  mother — well  that  mother  knows  her  child! 
Him  impulse  star-compelling  bids  with  panting  breath 

to  go 
To  thee,  great  heart  of  Nature  undefiled. 

In  that  heart  that  holds  the  stars  harmonious,  O  Soul 
Go  bathe — where  worlds  on  luster-worlds  in  awful 
orbits  blaze, 

Until  the  spirit's  compass  encompasses  the  Whole 
Of  God  and  of  God  the  wondrous  ways. 


THE  REPUBLIC. 


THE    REPUBLIC. 
[Mene,  Mene,  Tekel,  Upharsin.] 

I. 

Years  upon  years  have  we  labored,  lustily,  lovingly, 

long; 
Our  arms  were  girt,  and  our  thighs  were  girt,  and  our 

arms  and  thighs  were  strong. 
We  builded  a  beautiful  Tower  high  o'er  the  world's 

dreadful  plain ; 
Its  base  was  as  deep  as  the  roots  of  our  faith,  and  those 

were  as  deep  as  the  main. 
But  whether  the  Tower  be  Babel  made  red  by  the  set 

of  our  sun, 
By  fire  from  Hell  or  light  from  Heaven — what  word, 

O  Washington? 

II. 

We  shall  knock  at  thy  tomb  in  the  darkness ;  a  thunder 

of  tongues  shall  call 
Thee  forth  to  answer  or  to  ask — even  thou  who  art 

first  in  all. 
The  earthquakes  lie  curled  under  foot,  and  the  red 

clouds  in  vengeance  see 


THE  REPUBLIC. 


Marshalled  above  us  and  over  the  bell  whose  tongue 
spake  "  Liberty !  " 

Nothing  but  "  Liberty,  Liberty !  " — ere  sold  into  Mam- 
mon's hands 

To  groan  the  knell  of  Freedom  to  peoples  of  alien 
lands. 

III. 

Lost  in  a  labyrinth   madness — in  a  wilderness   lost! 

in  vain, 
Our  sons,  led  wrong  by  lies  of  the  Priests  of  Mammon, 

seek  light  again, — 
And  is  our  land  great  by  its  mileage,  or  great  by  the 

hearts  of  its  sons  ? 
And  is  our  land  strong  by  its  people's  voice,  or  only 

by  voice  of  its  guns  ? 
Well  we  know  where  pale  Freedom  lies  bleeding  and 

bound  to  an  isle  in  the  East; 
Well  we  know  where  an  Eagle  sweeps  out  of  the  West 

on  her  poor  heart  to  feast. 

IV. 

Years  upon  years  have  we  labored,  lustily,  lovingly, 

long; 
But,   Ruin  and  Chaos  our  work  must  eclipse  when 

Right  is  eclipsed  by  Wrong. 


THE  REPUBLIC. 


Where  is  the  prophecy  cried  by  the  seer?    Where  is 

the  patriot's  prayer? — 
The  iron-firm  hand  to  stay    the    stones? — the    voice 

through  the  night :  "  Beware !  " 
Nothing  is  written,  nothing  is  wrought,  to  warn  of, 

to  ward  off  the  fall, 
Save  the  hand  of  the  Father  held  forth  from  the  tomb 

and  the  terror  of  words  on  the  wall ! 

Feb.  22,   1900. 


10       LYRE  OF  THE  LATTER  DAYS. 


LYRE  OF  THE  LATTER  DAYS. 

Break  forth,  spirit  flame  of  the  Earth, 
Foredoomed  to  the  fate  of  the  moon; 

Feed  fire  unto  fire  in  poets'  hearts, 
Lest  they  burn  out  all  too  soon ; 

Lest  the  boon  they  were  given  with  blessings 

from  Heaven 
Be  more  of  a  curse  than  a  boon ! 

It  is  more  of  a  boon  than  a  curse, 

Their  powerful  labor  in  song, 
And  their  temples  up-builded  of  verse 

Are  forever-during  and  strong. 

Go  build  them  a  blaze  with  the  hearts 
Of  men  that  may  serve  them  for  coal, 

So  the  poets  may  brew  us  a  virtue-broth 
To  make  Humanity  whole ; 

So  the  strings  of  the  lyre  may  shake  forth  the  fire 
That  old  Prometheus  stole. 

They  shall  gather  men's  hearts  in  their  hands, 
Red-litten  with  wonderful  flame; 

They  shall  weld  them  and  bind  them  with 

bands 
Of  Love  made  of  more  than  a  name. 


LYRE  OF  THE  LATTER  DAYS.       11 

So  once  more  the  music  may  live 

Of  Thessalian  Orpheus'  muse, 
Safe  from  the  hands  of  its  juggling  priests, 

And  their  art  of  Art's  abuse. 
For  Beauty  deflowered,  their  blight  overpowered, 

And  ground  in  the  mills  of  mere  use. 

When  the  priests  shall  go  mad  in  the  night 
Of  their  souls  moist  with  mists  of  the  Earth, 

And   shall  flee   from   the   vengeance  named 

Light— 
Her  birth  shall  be  Poesy's  birth. 

Like  a  ruin  the  epic  of  Earth 

Lies  there  out  of  tune — out  of  rhyme. 

Where  are  the  masters,  the  minstrels,  the  men 
Who  wrought  with  the  Fair  and  Sublime  ? 

And  the  Days  of  the  Dreamer!    And  Beauty's 

Redeemer 
To  heal  the  deep  ills  of  the  time  ? 

When  masters,  when  minstrels,  when  men 

Shall  toil,  will  the  epic  be  done. 
And  to  stars  shall  Earth  be  a  star, — again 

Shall  her  face  be  worthy  the  sun ! 


12  DISARMAMENT. 


DISARMAMENT. 

(1898) 

Unto  the  sinful  nations, 
(What  finger  points  at  us?) 

The  Lord  in  His  All-power, 
Wisdom  and  Mercy,  thus : 

"  You  nations  roused  with  wrath, 

My  stolen  bolts  restore ! 
Go  up  into  the  Path 

Of  Peace,  and  sin  no  more." 

So  as  I  dreamt,  the  Tsar  dreamt 

Of  the  Millennium ; 
The  Tsar  of  All  the  Russias 

Dreamt  Peace-no-End  had  come! 

Hard  to  my  left  and  right, 

All  in  a  blood-red  rust, 
Spiked  cannon  crumbled  merrily, 

Choked  mouth  and  maw  with  dust. 

The  nations'  iron  navies, 

In  shore-sand  sunk,  and  sea, 

Dug  their  graves  or  fathoms  low 
Lay  and  lumbered  drunkenly. 


DISARMAMENT.  13 

Proofed  in  steel  the  corpse  of  War, 
Mountain-like,  spread  o'er  the  land, 

All  we  won  and  all  we  lost 
Writ  in  red  within  his  hand. 

O,  lost  in  a  distant,  grave, 

(What  was  the  war  to  me?) 
Friend  of  my  heart,  how  low  you  lie 

Beneath  a  strange,  wild  tree! 

Yet,  fair  in  this  dream  which  God 

The  wise  White  Tsar  did  send, 
Spain  still  held  her  hell-sprung  isles, 

And  I — I  held  my  friend. 

"  Give  back  God's  stolen  thunder — 

.  His  battle-bolts  restore ! 
Disarm,  you  glowering  nations, 
Disarm,  and  war  no  more !  " 

So  raved  the  Tsar  at  night 

Of  Peace  and  called  it  good. 
At  morn  the  glowering  nations 

Sought  one  another's  blood. 

EPILOGUE,    1900. 
High  noon !  and  the  rage  of  war ! 

Our  dreams  ne'er  came  to  pass — 
What  hold  the  dusk  and  the  night 

For  us,  Tsar  Nicholas  ? 


14  THE  SLEEPERS. 


THE    SLEEPERS. 

The  winds  lie  hushed  in  the  hill 
And  the  waves  upon  the  seas ; 
The  birds  are  mute  and  still, 
Deep  in  their  dreaming  trees ; 
The  earth  lies  dumb  in  night, 
And  the  stars  in  their  degrees 
Sleep  with  the  suns  in  space, 
With  angels,  with  seraphs  bright, 
In  the  light  of  God  His  face. 

Softly  lie  the  heads 

Of  the  sleepers  in  their  beds ; 

But  the  sleepers  in  the  ground— 

They  alone  sleep  sweet  and  sound, 

They  alone  know  rest  profound. 

Fear  not — soon  a  rest  as  deep 

Comes  to  thee — thou,  too,  shalt  sleep. 


THE  UNKNOWN.  15 


THE   UNKNOWN. 

Across  the  desert  of  Eternity, 

Darkness !    I  stretch  to  thee  my  helpless  hands, 
The  human  soul  sees  not  nor  understands, 

And  I,  who  nothing  knows  and  nothing  see, — 
Is  Death  the  only  Fiat  Lux  for  me  ? 

Peace !  restless  spirit,  let  serenity 

Shine  ever  on  thy  madly-questioning  soul. 

Thou   that  canst   see  no   part — wouldst    see   the 

whole  ? 
What  art  thou  who  wouldst  know  what  thou  shalt  be  ? 

Death  is  the  only  Fiat  Lux  for  thee. 


16  CHOSEN  OF  ALL. 


CHOSEN    OF   ALL. 

Come,  loved  one,  come,  and  be  my  wife, — 
And  I  shall  lead  thee  unto  Joy, 

Shall  ope  for  thee  the  doors  of  Life, 
Its  gold  to  weigh  without  alloy. 

Come  place  in  mine  thy  gentle  hand 

And  follow  to  the  Morning  Land! 

By  Love  still  starred,  how  can  we  fail 
To  reach  yon  Hills  of  Happiness 

By  broadest  way  or  stony  trail, — 
Who  nothing  but  our  love  possess  ? 

Responsive  light  pours  from  thine  eyes ! — 

An  Adam  and  an   Eve   shall  find  their 
Paradise. 


SEA  CHANGE.  17 


SEA   CHANGE. 
MAID: 

Their  bones  toss  on  the  sea-floor  stones, 

My  sailor's  and  his  ship's ; 
So  the  tears  in  my  eye  are  never  dry, 
So  my  thoughts  are  all  one  unanswered — "  Why  ?" 

As  the  tide  to  seaward  slips, 

Bearing  the  souls  in  the  ships. 
I  sob  as  the  sea  sobs  on  the  shore, 
And  the  voice  in  the  shell  forevermore 

Is  the  voice  from  his  poor,  cold  lips, — 

As  the  tide  to  seaward  slips, 

Bearing  the  souls  in  the  ships. 

LOVER : 

Life's  storm  hath  chilled  thy  heart-blood  warm ; 

Thy  tears  drop  for  the  dead: — 
With  the  monsters  grim  that  about  him  swim, 
He  lies  in  the  glaze  of  the  sea-caves  dim; 

Life  and  Love  sweep  overhead 

And  the  dead  are  but  the  dead. 
Give  tears  to  them — to  the  living  give  love; 
Lock  not  thyself  from  the  bliss  thereof 


i8  SEA  CHANGE. 


Whilst  the  blood  runs  warm  and  red. 
Life  and  Love  sweep  overhead 
And  the  dead  are  but  the  dead. 

MERMAIDEN  I 

The  sea  brought  down  my  love  to  me ; — 

Long  have  I  sought  thee, — long! 
By  bosom  bare  and  my  long,  loose  hair 
Thy  couch  shall  be  and  thy  pillow  fair, 

With  my  lips  for  kiss  or  song. 

Shall  mine  arms  not  hold  thee  long? 
To  a  woman's  sweet  name  thy  lips  were  shaped 
As  a  bubbling  sigh  through  the  water  'scaped. 

What  Earth-woman's  love  is  strong? 

With  my  lips  for  kiss  or  song, 

Shall  mine  arms  not  hold  thee  long  ? 


DE  PROFUNDIS.  19 


DE    PROFUNDIS. 

(A  PHANTASY.) 

In  my  grave  I  lie  at  rest, 

Musing  on  a  mournful  sonnet ; — 

Sweet  is  Silence — sweet  is  Quiet 
In  the  Earth  as  well  as  on  it. 

Four  long  boards  now  form  my  chamber, 
Head-board,  foot-board,  little  boards, 

And  the  wood-worm  feeding  on  them, 
With  his  star  a  lamp  affords. 

Cool  the  clay — no  summer  sun-stroke 
Here  the  maddened  brain  can  fret; 

Here,  oh,  here  no  thought  of  anguish 
Dews  thy  brow  with  mortal  sweat. 

Had  I  pen  and  ink  to  write 

All  the  praise  of  fair  Fedora, — 

Maid  of  dust,  to  thee  I  'd  scribble 
Songs,  as  Petrarch  once  to  Laura. 


20  DE  PROFUNDIS. 


By  the  death-watch  small  that  ticks 
By  my  pillow,  I  would  write  thee 

Many  a  poem,  many  a  song, 

Many  a  hymn  that  would  delight  thee. 

On  my  elbows,  weary  elbows, 

I  can  rise  and  kiss  the  sod, 
Rid  of  bells  and  smoking  tapers, 

Thanks  to  Thee,  Almighty  God ! 

Prone  I  lie  upon  my  back, 

Waiting  for  Thy  End-all 's  blowing ; 
O'er  me  frowns  a  firmament 

Earthen  where  no  star  is  glowing. 

Earth  upon  her  axis  grinds, — 
How  the  sound  my  hearing  jars ! 

And  I  know  there  are  great  quarrels 
'Mongst  Thine  ever-burning  stars. 

Quarrels,  quarrels,  endless  quarrels, 
Battle,  rattle,  noise  and  glare. 

Do  not  wake  me,  kind  Archangel, 
From  my  gentle  dreams  and  fair. 


DE  PROFUNDIS.  21 

Tell  me,  Lord, — me,  naked  spirt, — 
Do  not  blast  my  heart's  affection ! 

Comes  there  Hell — or  comes  there  Chaos? 
Comes,  oh,  comes — the  Resurrection! 

Hear  my  prayer,  and  do  not  wake  me, 

Let  me  sleep  and  sleep  forever, 
For  this  soul  was  shaped  for  dreaming, 
But  for  living — never,  never ! 

Lest  I  cry  aloud  in  anguish; 

Lest  a  storm  should  break  the  calm ! 
O  Grave,  where  is  Oblivion? 

O  Death,  where  is  thy  balm  ? 


22  MURAD  ALI  UNTO  DALJA. 


MURAD  ALI  UNTO  DALJA. 
(From  "  De   Profundis.") 

Thus  the  poet  Murad  All 

Wove  his  golden  heart  in  rhyme 
Unto  his  beloved — the  first  love 

Of  his  youth — the  olden  time ! 

They  were  children  both — the  heavens 

Spread  their  bluest  mantle  o'er  them ; 
Life  untasted  and  unwasted 
In  Time's  garden  lay  before  them. 

Yet  the  poet  Murad  AH 

Spoke  in  deep,  impassioned  tone, 
Felt  his  might  and  felt  Life's  burthen — 

Felt,  although  he  had  not  known: 

"  Light  of  Life !    O  Star  of  Morning ! 

Soul  to  which  my  soul  must  move ! 
Only  poets'  hearts  are  faithful, 

Only  poets'  souls  can  love. 

"  In  the  kisses  from  their  lips 

Life  with  Love  unending  dwells ; 

On  the  brows  of  earthly  women 

They  bind  wreaths  of  immortelles. 


MURAD  ALI  UNTO  DALJA.  23 

"  Mighty  scepters  are  their  pens, 
And  their  hearts  are  sacred  urns, 

Crystal  lamps  where  purest  fire 
From  the  gods  in  splendor  burns. 

"  Paradise  and  Happiness 

They  disclose  to  blinded  mortals, 

Yet  seem  blind  themselves ;  they  seldom 
Find  their  way  within  the  portals. 

"  Though  they  sing  like  nightingales 

In  the  vales  of  Ajalon, 
They  can  also  roar  like  lions 

Whilst  the  horrid  mood  is  on. 

"  Matchless,  terrible  the  weapons 

They  alone  were  born  to  wield ; 
Vain  are  mortal  arms  against  them, 

Vain  the  great  Mahomet's  shield ! 

"  Mountain-rending  rolls  of  thunder, 

Storms  and  avalanches  dire, 
Flames  of  Hell,  heart-searing  pangs, 

Leaping  lava,  lightning  fire, 

"  Draughts  of  bitter,  burning  wormwood, 
Scorpion  whips  and  cups  of  gall, 

And  their  voices  vast  re-echo 
And  through  coming  ages  call. 


24  MURAD  ALI  UNTO  DALJA. 

"  For  their  curses  are  the  curses 
Of  the  terror-mantled  Lord, 

By  their  words  man's  name  shall  perish 
Or  his  memory  be  abhorred. 

"  In  the  hell  of  hells  Abaddon, 
As  within  the  Koran  written, 

Coils  the  snake  whose  baneful  apples 
By  the  erring  Eve  were  bitten. 

"  In  the  Koran  may  you  read  it 

How  he  writhes  in  throes  eternal, 

Yet  the  poets'  hell,  my  darling, 
Blacker  is  and  more  infernal. 

"  Ah,  I  would  not  fright  thee — fairer 
Thou  than  all  the  houris'  race ! 

Earth  and  Heaven  will  I  emblazon 
With  the  beauty  of  thy  face. 

"  When  I  think  no  more  upon  thee, 
Lips  or  eyes  of  thine  forget, 

Rose  of  June,  may  this  hand  wither ! 
May  my  sun  in  sorrow  set. 

"  Allah,  send  no  strife  between  us ! 

Nor  the  evil  hour  of  woe. 
Nor — O,  thou  art  only  woman ! 

Let  us  hope  who  may  not  know. 


MURAD  ALI  UNTO  DALJA.  25 

"  Kisses  and  not  curses  crown  thee ! 

Love,  o'er  all  the  world  held  dear — 
But  the  truest  love  of  woman 

Still  must  bear  a  trace  of  fear. 

"  Do  not  fear — for  now  't  is  love-time, 
Flowers,  pleasures,  songs  of  wonder; 

Let  us  keep  for  graying  ages 
All  the  madness  and  the  thunder. 

"  Lo,  the  twilit  world  below  there 
Nevermore  this  heart  entrances; 

In  thine  eyes  my  better  world  lies, 
Filled  with  poems  and  romances. 

"  Hear,  our  springtime  genii  young 

Chaunt  for  us  our  passion's  choral- 
Come,  I  '11  twine  thy  hair  with  roses, 

Thou  shalt  crown  my  brows  with  laurel ! " 

Thus  the  poet  Murad  Ali 

Wove  his  golden  heart  in  rhyme 

Unto  his  beloved — the  first  love 
Of  his  youth — the  olden  time ! 


26  EARTHLIGHT. 


EARTHLIGHT. 
(From  "  De  Profundis.") 

Leave  me,  fair  one,  still  the  fairest 
Of  all  maidens  of  the  Mars, — 

Thou  the  fairest  of  Mars'  maidens, 
Earth  the  fairest  of  the  stars. 

Leave  me  to  my  meditations, 

So  this  exiled  soul  may  roam 

Far  from  this  to  yonder  planet 

Gleaming — my  terrestrial  home. 

By  yon  ocean,  calm  of  temper, 

Where  the  sun  with  zephyr  dances- 

Once,  O,  once  uprose  the  city 

Of  that  holy  man,  Saint  Francis. 

Vanished,  aeons  after  aeons; 

Time  that  is  and  Time  to  be, 
All  is  time  that  was,  my  city 

Of  Saint  Francis  Assisi! 

Dark  are  California's  woods! 

Bright  are  California's  vales! 
Though  in  them  no  chorus  sounding 

Of  bell-voiced  nightingales. 


EARTHLIGHT.  27 


Though  in  them  no  chorus  sounding 
Of  bell-voiced  nightingales, 

Their  wild  music  oceanic 

Tosses  through  the  bosom's  pales. 

Music  that  with  music  mingled 

From  the  fair  lips  framed  to  tell 

In  the  dim  woods  of  her  deep  love — 
Thy  love!   star-eyed  Isabel. 

Thou  whose  heart  bore  flame  from  heaven, 
Like  the  purest  altar-ember — 

I  remember  all  thy  beauty, 

All  thy  love  do  I  remember ! 

In  Earth's  West  my  thoughts  are  lying, 
Mountain  snow  and  ocean  sand, 

Fir  and  orange  trees  I  dream  of, 
Growing  in  that  sunny  land. 

Would  I  knew  that  ocean  olden, 
Breaking  on  the  shelly  shores, 

Still  by  moon-sprites  maddened,  foaming 
Through  the  Golden  Gateway  roars. 

Ages  past  by  cliff  and  beachway 

Dreaming,  through  the  air  I  heard 

Sometimes  singing  of  a  siren, 
Sometimes  singing  of  a  bird. 


28  EARTHLIGHT. 


Foamed  the  waters,  rose  the  sea-nymph 
Crying :  Come,  O  come  to  me ! 

But  I  fled  her  waving  white  arms 
Sparkling  with  the  dripping  sea. 

Captive  on  this  ruby  planet, 

See,  I  stretch  mine  arms  afar, 

Yearning  for  the  loved  one  yearning 
For  me  from  some  unknown  star. 

Vain  for  me  the  jeweled  star-shine, 
Maids  of  beauty,  worlds  of  light; 

Lone  I  muse  upon  the  chaos 

And  the  Universe  named  Night. 


SHAGALON  OF  THE  POLE.  29 


SHAGALON    OF   THE   POLE. 

The  ice-bear  Shagalon  came  over  the  ice  to  me, 

Huge  and  white  as  the  sail  of  a  ship  comes  white 
across  the  sea ; 

His  march  was  like  Death's  panther-march,  soft  foot- 
fall on  and  on, 

And  red  the  mouth  and  black  the  eyes  of  the  ice-bear 
Shagalon. 

The  berg  was  rent  insunder — in  thunder  strode  he 

forth, 
Lord  was  he  and  king  was  he  of  all  this  Uttermost 

North, — 
Lord  was  he  and  king  was  he,  and  wide  'neath  his 

control, 
Uprose  Earth's  crowning  splendor — the  diadem  of  the 

Pole. 

"  Old  Father  of  the  Floe!  White  Father  of  the  milk- 
cubs  three ! 

Weary  and  woeful  was  the  way,  but  mine  eyes  are  blest 
with  thee. 


30  SHAGALON  OF  THE  POLE. 

Homage  I  render  thee  and  thy  young — brave  offspring 

fresh  and  fair; — 
Glory  be  thine,  if  thy  story  be  mine — O  Father — O 

King— O  Bear!" 

Down  the  imperial  Shagalon  sat  him  haunch-deep  in 
the  snow, 

Whilst  I  stood  in  an  humble  silence  and  the  cubs  played 
to  and  fro, 

They  tousled  up  their  sire's  fur,  they  licked  his  scarlet 
jaws; 

They  gently  bit  and  gently  mouthed  the  dread,  death- 
bearing  paws. 

"  Thou  hast  seen,  O  Man,  and  hast  spoken  with  the 

ice-king  Shagalon, 
Gone  beyond  limit  of  thy  race,  for  none  thus  far  has 

gone. 
See!  written  the  Law,  by  the  Great  Bear's  paw  in 

the  stone-hard  ice  and  snow — 
So  far  shall  the  race  from  the  Southland  come,  but 

shall  no  farther  go ! 

"  Fools  are  the  feet  of  the  white  man  to  stray  from 

the  eye  of  his  sun, 
For  fierce  in  the  stern  Northeast  he  meets  my  wind 

Euroclydon, 


SHAGALON  OF  THE  POLE.  31 

The  crush  and  crush  of  floes  on  floes — the  fiends  in  the 

freezing  flood, — 
These — all  these  are  his  enemies  and  these  are  my 

guardians  good! 

"  Yet  could  he  elude  my  guardians  good,  the  paws  he 

shall  not  elude 
Of  my  bears  that  creep  and  seek  by  light  of  one  blue 

star  for  food, — 
By  their  haloes,  as  the  ghost-moons  mount  the  heavens 

side  by  side, 
Only  the  God  of  the  man-race  small  shall  mark  how 

His  creature  died. 

"  Glory  and  praise  to  the  Bear-god ! — the  God-bear  in 

the  vault, 
His  high  hand  making  and  moving  bergs  and  floes  to 

wild  assault ; — 
To  us  the  bearded  seal  he  sends,  anhungered  when  we 

seek, 
The  walrus  and  the  seal  he  sends — their  gods  are  small 

and  weak ! 

"  Fair  is  this  night  and  fair  this  day,  when  the  square, 
striped  sun  uprears, 

Bar  by  bar,  to  the  lowest  star,  halts,  faints  and  dis- 
appears. 


32  SHAGALON  OF  THE  POLE. 

O,  thou,  from  thy  star-set  throne  dost  glance  o'er  other 

lands  than  this ; 
But,  than  my  fairy-fair  wonderland,  what  land  that 

fairer  is? 

"  Thou  hast  heard  what  I  have  spoken,  much  hast  thou 

seen  and  heard, 
The  awe  of  crystal-crowned  peaks,  the  song  of  the 

lone  ice-bird. 
Farewell,  with  the  word  I  charge  thee  with,  farewell, 

with  a  wish  from  me, 
Stroke  me  once,  brother,  on  the  head — now  all  ways 

are  South  for  thee !  " 


BANNERS  OF  SHASTA.  33 


BANNERS    OF    SHASTA. 

Once  more,  white  Banners  of  Shasta!   flung  from  the 

breast  of  your  father 
Hoary  and  eld,  o'er  the  land,  dance  me  the  dances 

whose  measures 
Swayed  with  a  maddening  music  and  joy  this  spirit 

of  mine. 
Yet  not  alone  was  my  spirit; — wrapt  in  the  heart  of 

the  winds 
Dwelt   Thelma,   the   beautiful   Thelma,    Thelma   the 

radiant  one ! 
White  in  thy  majesty  soaring,  O  Shasta,  with  .cumu- 

lous  cloud-crown 
And  robe  of  the  snows  everlasting,  everlasting  even 

as  thou, 
Once  in  the  dimmest,  most  distant  gray  spaces  of  Time 

unforgotten — 
All  unforgotten  by  me !   when  the  tongues  of  thy  fires 

internal, 
Deep  from  thy  bosom  of  passion,  flew  fierce  from  thy 

crater's  red  lips, 
There  on  thy  crater's  red  lips  often  we  lingered,  and 

Thelma, 


34  BANNERS  OF  SHASTA. 

With  a  glory  of  grace,  fell  to  dancing  on  the  drift  of 

the  murky  smoke  columns. 
Then  would  she  beckon,  then  would  I  spring  to  her 

arms  and  together, 
Wreathed  with  thy  vapors  gigantic,   saw  thy  heart 

suffer,  O  Shasta. 
All  that  was  once  in  the  oldest  days  now  is  no  longer. 

Thy  fires, 
Thy  turbulent  fires,  have  perished,  and  the  ages  have 

gently 
In  mercy  and  mildness  snowed  beauty  upon  thee  and 

made  thee 
The  monument  vast  of  thyself.    Yet  this  heart's  wild 

fires  forever 
Must  burn  with  the  love  that  enkindled  them,  love  for 

the  air-maiden  Thelma, 
The  beautiful  Thelma!    Far  fluttering  in  wake  of  the 

whirlwinds, 

Up-caught  from  the  breast  of  the  mountain,  the  Ban- 
ners of  Shasta 
Stream  to  the  music  resistless,  whose  potency  heaves 

in  my  veins 
To  keep  me  alive  till  the  Last  Day ; — to  watch  for  the 

whirlwinds, — 

To  watch  and  to  wait  for  the  whirlwinds,  the  whirl- 
winds and  Thelma, 
To  wait  for  the  whirlwinds  and  Thelma, — Thelma,  the 

air-maiden  Thelma! 


THE  VALLEY  OF  YOSEMITE.  35 


THE   VALLEY   OF   YOSEMITE. 

Would  that  his  voice  were  mine,  Yosemite! 

Who  spoke  on  Sinai  with  the  hidden  Lord : 
For  only  then  my  song  were  worthy  thee, — 

Song  of  one  humble  spirit  that  adored, — 
Adored  thee  as  the  Earth  adores  her  sun, 
Thou  vast,  thou  beautiful,  yet  awful  one! 

Thy  loveliness  is  everlasting, — born 

Of  hoary  aeons  when  the  ice-bound  force 

Wrought  thy  wild  crags,  to  such  perfection  torn, 
From  height  to  dimmest  depth  of  glacial  course, 

The  soul  of  beauty  brooded  o'er  thy  deep, 

And  thrilling  suns  and  stars  beheld  thy  sleep. 

When  first  thy  glory  on  my  vision  fell, 

The  helpless  sense  scarce  grasped  the  world  it  saw ; 
As  in  some  piled  cathedral,  'neath  the  spell 

Of  the  low-rolling  organ  and  its  awe; 
Then  knew  mine  eyes  the  tear  of  ecstasy, 
Rich  with  a  great  and  deathless  joy  in  thee. 

I  saw  thee  when  the  evening  sun,  all  loth 
To  leave  the  purpling  splendor  of  thy  walls, 


36  THE  VALLEY  OF  YOSEMITE. 

Lingered  in  love  upon  the  Titan  growth 

Of  pines  above  thy  sea-voiced  waterfalls, 
From  forth  whose  mist  ethereal  rainbows  sprung, 
With  pearls,  with  diamonds,  with  emeralds  hung. 

Shot  down  the  sparkling  shafts  of  morning  light 
Through  crystal  airs  and  paled  the  shades  below; 

Up  from  thy  placid  lake  the  sun  took  flight, 
Gilding  thy  peaks  tremendous  with  their  glow. 

Only  the  sun  can  paint  thee  as  is  meet: 

How  vain  for  man's  slight  brush  the  giant  feat! 

Ye  cliffs  and  pinnacles  that  flout  the  skies, 

Suffused  with  faery  lights  and  gildings  pale; 

Ye  clouds  that  drift  like  souls  upon  the  rise 
Of  domes  that  drop  their  torrents  like  a  veil. 

Dim  flushes  on  the  far-off  snow-crests  white, 

And  shadows  deep  and  full  of  shapes  as  night. 

O,  would  that  more  than  mortal  voice  were  mine, 
Or  seraph's  reed  to  write  or  brush  to  limn, 

So  might  I  vaunt  thy  glories  all  divine, 
Until  my  yearning  eye  with  death  grew  dim ; — 

Then  should  my  spirit  woo  thy  heavenly  walls, 

And  join  the  eternal  anthem  of  thy  falls ! 


HURKALEM  THE  HUNTER.  37 


HURKALEM    THE    HUNTER. 

Hurkalem   the   Hunter,    old   and    dying,    sought   the 

ground 
Where  wan  light,  where  green  light  made  weird  a 

sunken  dell; 
The  red  deer  leapt  before  him    joyously,    the    quail 

around 
Whirred  in  their  ranks.    The  Fate  had  closed  her  for- 

fex — all  was  well. 
O  white  locks  o'er  the  shoulders,  O  faint  knees  on  the 

sward, 
That  bent  so  lowly  thrice  his  lips  might  kiss  his  parent 

earth, 
Might   thank   with   blue   up-lifted   eyes   his   bending 

patron  Lord, 
Who,    with   the    forest-spirits   wild,    kenned   all   his 

bosom's  worth. 

WOOD-SPRITES  : 

Break  a  branch  of  cypress — a  spray  of  immortelle, — 
Haste,  ye  elfins,  ere  he  dies, 
Spread  immortal  glories  'fore  his  mortal  eyes, — 
Faeries  from  each  flower  and  gray  gnomes  from,  each 

cell, 
Break  a  branch  of  cypress — a  spray  of  immortelle. 


38  HURKALEM  THE  HUNTER. 

Hurkalem  the  Hunter  sends  his  praise,  his  thanks  to 
Thee, 

0  Thou  to  whom  Thy  watcher  calls  from  Nature's 

world  of  green, 

Whatever  runs  or  flies  or  creeps  Thou  gavest  unto 
me; — 

1  kept  the  huntsman's  faith,  O  God,  in  this  Thy  pure 

demesne ! 

Never  I  slew  but  'twas  for  Thee  a  votive  sacrifice; 
A  worship  pure  as  Abraham's  soared  upward  with  the 

blood — 
Ye  winds  that  blow  my  breath  aloft,  how  turn  ye  chill 

as  ice, — 
Now  bear  my  soul  o'er  Western  seas  from  out  the 

Western  wood! 

BEASTS  AND   BIRDS: 

Break  a  branch  of  cypress — a  spray  of  immortelle, — 
Howl  and  wail  your  deepest  notes, 
Throats  of  hair  and  fur  and  tuneful  feathered 

throats, 
Mourn  his  death,  besing  his  life,  for  he  hath  loved  us 

well! 
Break  a  branch  of  cypress — a  spray  of  immortelle. 

Hurkalem  the  Hunter's  head  bent  slowly  to  the  grass 
That  spread  its   richest  mantle   for  his  pall,   of  as- 
phodel,— 


HURKALEM  THE  HUNTER.  39 

Quivered  the  trees  with  plunge  of  wings, — thus  did 

his  spirit  pass 
Who  died  without  a  sigh, — without  a  candle,  book  or 

bell. 

For  Hurkalem  the  Hunter  the  wildwood  life  is  o'er 
In  the  dim  regions  of  his  rule.     Here  God  his  soul 

accept. 
Pale  Scytheman,  Mighty  Hunter,  thou  hast  proved  his 

conqueror : — 
There  sprang  a  blood-red  flower  and  o'er  his  visage 

wept. 

TREES   AND   FLOWERS: 

Break  a  branch  of  cypress — a  spray  of  immortelle, — 
Rock  with  grief  your  branching  heads, 
Tufted  trees  and  tow'ring  trunks;  bloom  flowers 
from  your  beds; 

Deck,  ye  lost  and  legioned  leaves,  our  silent  sentinel! 

Break  a  branch  of  cypress — a  spray  of  immortelle. 


40  PICKETT'S  CHARGE. 


PICKETT'S    CHARGE. 

Mark !  where  the  grim  Hill  lowers, 

Whose  dread,  black  muzzles  throw 
Thousands  of  iron  showers 

Sheer  on  the  gory  foe. 
To  the  red  roar  of  the  guns, 
Answer  old  Virginia's  sons, — 

Whilst  the  shattered  air  complains 
To  the  dun  and  solemn  sky, 

Breeding  forth  the  gentle  rains 
From  on  high — blest  on  high! 

"  The  foe  lies  massed  before  us," 

(Pickett  thus  unto  his  men), 
"  The  Meteor  Flag  streams  o'er  us, — 

Ye  know  your  duty  then. 
For  the  last  hope  is  not  lost; 
Let  it  cost  what  it  shall  cost! 

Farewell,  all — a  long  good-bye, 
Victory  comes  or  comes  the  grave ; — 

Where  the  heart  that  fears  to  die 
With  the  brave — bv  the  brave  ?  " 


PICKETT'S  CHARGE.  41 

Now  fell  an  awful  quiet 

No  heart  might  long  endure; 
The  cannons'  crashing  riot 

Ceased  its  wild  overture. 
While  the  voice  of  Slaughter  cried 
To  the  souls  on  either  side : 

Lo,  the  final  test  is  come 
For  your  triumph  or  defeat, — 

Hark !  What  says  the  rolling  drum  ? 
Peace  is  sweet !  Death  is  sweet ! 

Wide  from  the  forest  crowning 

Fair  Seminary  Ridge, 
Unto  the  crests  that,  frowning, 

The  Northern  batteries  bridge, — 
For  Honor's  sake! — for  Glory's  sake! 
That  wild  path  must  Pickett  take. 

There  his  heaving  line  is  seen, 
Wall  so  formed  of  noblest  clay, 

Wall  of  gray  against  the  green, 
All  of  gray — saddest  gray ! 

The  chilling  hush  was  ended, 

The  guns  their  thunder  spoke 
From  those  blue  heights  defended 

By  flesh  and  flame  and  smoke. 
All  along  the  forest's  marge 


42  PICKETT'S  CHARGE. 

Flew  the  order :   Forward,  charge ! 

And  the  line  that  lately  stood 
As  of  iron,  rolls  anon 

Forward,  forward  like  a  flood, 
On  and  on — ever  on ! 

Balls  weave  the  air  by  millions, 

Winged  with  their  fiery  breath ; 
The  sulphur  fumes'  turbillions 

Become  their  shrouds  in  death. 
In  the  gray  commander's  eye 
Shines  a  tear  that  will  not  dry, 

For  he  knows  the  Cause  must  fail, 
For  he  mourns  his  noble  braves, — 
See !  the  flag  that  they  assail ; 
Still  it  waves !  grandly  waves ! 

Ye  heroes !  faint  and  gory, 

Up  to  the  dripping  mouth 
Of  cannon,  wrest  your  glory, 

Brave  hearts  from  forth  the  South. 
But  of  thrice  five  thousand  men, 
Few,  how  few !  join  ranks  again ! 

O,  forever  glow  your  deed ; — 
Hallowed  with  a  golden  Fame 

By  your  seed  to  latest  seed, 
Be  your  name !  noble  name ! 


PICKETT'S  CHARGE.  43 

Now  rusts  the  sabre  polished, 

War's  horrent  engines  rust, 
That  icon  grim,  demolished, 

Lies  lowly  in  the  dust. 
White  on  Gettysburg's  green  field — 
Lo,  the  Union  stands  revealed ! 

Hidden  by  a  common  sod, 
There  are  never  two,  but  one, 

And  the  will  of  one  great  God 
Shall  be  done !  shall  be  done ! 


44  CRUCIFIXION. 


CRUCIFIXION. 

Darkness  swallows  up  the  living  day ; 
The  red  disk  of  the  sun  is  swept  away ; 

Lo,  the  temple's  awful  veil  is  rent ; — 
The  air  is  heavy  with  Terror's  breath  and  Despair  fills 

the  firmament! 
The  dead  spring  to  life  in  their  shrouds 

And  burst  from  their  powerless  graves, 
Blind  fear  seizes  fast  on  the  crowds, — 
The  hills  and  the  plains  are  shaken  and  split  with 

ruinous  earthen  waves; 
All  Nature  is  torn  with  pain, — 
And  the  Lamb  of  God  is  slain. 

On  the  anguished  hilltop  from  afar 
A  gentle  sheen  enkindles  like  a  star, 

From  the  vault's  eclipse  is  born  a  light, 
And  a  cross  is  twylitten  with  glory  and  severed  away 

from  night. 
A  sound  as  of  praying  is  heard 

And  loud  lamentations  are  borne 
By  winds,  and  the  silence  is  stirred 


CRUCIFIXION.  45 


By  weeping  of  men  in  their  woe  and  by  wailing  of 

women  forlorn. 

At  the  foot  of  the  cross  they  lie 
Who  have  seen  their  Savior  die. 

Thickest  may  the  clouds  enwrap  thy  head, 
Thou  Earth  with  bloody  face,  whose  Lord  is  dead ! 

Loudest  may  ye  groan,  O  Heavens,  O  Man, 
For  by  Him  is  the  sacrifice  made,  by  Him  is  fulfilled 

God's  plan. 
O  World  he  hath  saved,  can  thy  crime 

Be  atoned  by  the  woe  of  thy  loss? 
Can  Penitence,  Travail  or  Time 
Restore  God's  Begotten  to  mankind  or  release  the  dead 

Christ  from  the  cross? 
Thou  that  didst  love  man  so  well, 
God!   Master!   Emmanuel! 


46  THE  NIGHT-BELLS  OF  NOEL. 


THE   NIGHT-BELLS    OF   NOEL. 
I. 

Hear  the  bells  in  all  the  steeples, 
O'er  the  Nations  and  their  Peoples, 
Shout  once  more  their  yearly  Falsehood,  holpen  by  the 

Tongue  and  Pen! 

From  your  hearts  comes  no  rebelling 
'Gainst  that  Lie  their  throats  are  telling? 
"  Glory  be  to  God  in  Heaven — Peace  on  Earth — Good 
Will  to  Men !  " 

II. 

Generations,  sin-curst,  hoary, 

Tell !   where  is  your  Peace,  your  Glory  ? 

There  is  neither  one  nor  other  unto  either  God  or  Man ! 
Years  on  years  their  surges  rolling, 
Bring  us  still  the  false  bells'  tolling, 

Bring  us  still  the  ancient  Seraph-song  through  Beth- 
lehem that  ran. 

III. 

Up  through  Earth's  fierce  fever  rising, 
Hark!  the  sounds  of  solemnizing, — 


THE  NIGHT-BELLS  OF  NOEL.  47 

'T  is  the  Fore-world  sends  to  After-world  her  Christ 

Mass  burning  red, — 
By  the  crosses,  gilt,  uplifted 
In  the  cities'  murk  undrifted, 

By  the  Symbols  of  the  Temples,  Monuments  of  Virtues 
dead. 

IV. 

Cease !  ye  monsters,  cease  your  clamors, 
Lest  the  voices  of  your  hammers, 
By  the  storm  of  mortal  curses  roaring  up,  be  far  out- 
blown. 

Mark,  oh,  mark !  your  note  unheeding, 
Christ's  deep  wounds  once  more  are  bleeding, — 
Vain  for  Him  your  pealing  pseans — vain  for  us  your 
thunder-tone ! 

V. 

Ill  the  Sphere  of  our  Disaster 
Lies,  abandoned  by  the  Master. 
See  red  Murder's  hellish  shadow — hear  the  lips  that 

Heaven  blaspheme ; — 
Thou,  of  God  the  Image  Earthy, 
Art  thou  happy,  Man  unworthy? — 
Is  it  thou  that  cryest  woe  to  Him  from  Suffering's 
Fire-stream  ? 


48  THE  NIGHT-BELLS  OF  NOEL. 

VI. 

Since  that  Vigil,  held  by  stranger 
Kings  and  Stars  above  the  Manger, 
All  His  Birth-night's  joy  has  vanished  like  the  Man- 
child  sent  of  God. 
Thieves  and  traffickers  deflower 
His  pure  fanes  in  Mammon's  hour, 
And  a  People  stained  wih  Rapine  and  huge  Greed 
awaits  the  Rod. 

VII. 

Pluto's  Princes,  sateless  giants, 
Glower  from  the  thrones  of  tyrants, 
At  whose  bases  lie  the  Millions,  breathing  Life's  thick 

Battle-dust. 

Over  Law  itself  ye  raised  them; 
Over  God  ye  worshiped,  praised  them ; — 
Meet  it  is  ye  bow  to  icons  squatting  in  their  golden 
lust! 

VIII. 

Hurled  into  your  jaws  sonorous, 
Tossing  engines,  take  your  Chorus ! 
Your  false  tidings  take,  unfitting,  till  our  Souls  be 
chastened  all ; 


THE  NIGHT-BELLS  OF  NOEL.  49 

Till  our  Hearts,  by  Mercy  watered, 
Bloom,  and  Self  by  Self  be  slaughtered ; 
Till  the  frowning  desert-heavens  show  their  Orbs  and 
drop  their  Pall. 

IX. 

Then,  anew  your  mouths  may  bellow 
Words  from  fellow-bell  to  fellow, — 
Words  whose  might  shall  thrill  the  Earth-globe  belted 

with  each  golden  zone ; 
Nation  shall  sing  unto  Nation ; 
Man  to  Man  shall  bring  Salvation, 
And  from  yon  bright  world  God's  Glory  and  His  Peace 
shall  light  our  own ! 


SO       THE  HEAD  AND  HAND  OF  MURIETTA. 


THE    HEAD    AND    HAND    OF    MURIETTA. 

Livid  head  and  blackened  hand, 

Severed  from  a  bandit  chief — 
Hand  that  wrought  what  head  had  planned 

For  assassin  and  for  thief. 

Face  of  fiend,  illumed  by  Hell, 

Through  whose  Gorgon  eyeballs  shine 

Hate  and  craft  no  death  can  quell, 
As  they  glitter  into  mine ! 

Safely  prisoned  in  the  glass, 

Dream  of  bloody  orgies  still ; 
Through  that  head  what  thoughts  must  pass ! 

How  that  hand  must  lust  to  kill ! 

Fleshly  orbs  and  mirrors  black, — 
Still  the  scenes  where  men  did  die, 

Still  the  blood  that  marked  thy  track, 
Redden  in  each  demon  eye. 

Lo,  the  hacienda's  flame 

Tells  the  ruin  of  thy  raid, 
And  a  place  that  knows  no  name, 
Knows  the  wailing  of  a  maid ! 


THE  HEAD  AND  HAND  OF  MURIETTA.   51 

Oft  his  gold  the  gamester  stored 
Warm  by  his  triumphant  hand — 

Oft  thine  own  received  his  hoard 
With  a  short  and  sharp  command. 

At  the  gay  fiesta's  ball 

Maiden  laughed  with  cavalier, 
Till  a  shudder  shot  through  all: 

"  Murietta !  he  is  here." 

Seemed  betimes  thy  courage  lost, 

Faint  with  mountain-weight  of  crime  — 

It  was  but  a  ride  at  most 

Where  the  Mission  bells  held  chime. 

But  a  swift  ride  by  the  moon 

Where  the  pale  adobes  shone, 
Craving  from  the  Christ  a  boon — 

And  the  Virgin  carved  of  stone. 

Sunk  on  knees  abased  to  pray, 

Thou  and  all  thy  robber  horde 
Did  kiss  the  rudest  cross  where  lay 

The  mangled  body  of  the  Lord. 

It  is  said  that  thou  didst  give 

Ravished  riches  to  the  poor, 
So  to  thee  when  fugitive, 

Opened  each  his  sheltering  door. 


52       THE  HEAD  AND  HAND  OF  MURIETTA. 

Some  do  say  thy  soul  was  crazed 
By  a  grief  too  great  to  bear — 

By  a  happy  homestead  razed 
And  a  slaughtered  wife  and  heir. 

If  these  things  be  true,  O  may 

Prayers  of  priests  and  poor  men's  tears 

Count  for  thee  on  Judgment  Day 
'Gainst  the  sum  of  thy  arrears. 

But  nor  prayers  nor  tears  could  stay 
Heavenly  vengeance  when  it  fell, 

When  thy  mates  were  swept  away, 
When  thy  soul  was  flung  to  Hell. 

Murietta,  bandit  chief 

Of  the  dim  days  long  ago, 
Robber,  murderer  and  thief, 

Wolf  of  lawless  Mexico ! 

It  was  long,  oh,  long  ere  fell 

Thy  fierce  head  beneath  the  Law, — 

San  Benito's  hills  may  tell 
What  that  day  the  vultures  saw. 

Safely  prisoned  in  the  glass, 

Dream  of  bloody  orgies  still; 
Through  that  head  what  thoughts  must  pass ! 

How  that  hand  must  lust  to  kill ! 


POESY  BANISHED.  53 


POESY   BANISHED. 

Mine  eyes  reversed  to  inner  light  — 

(For  such  the  spirit  may  assoil) 

Above  the  tempest  and  the  toil, 
A  vision  passed  me  in  the  night. 

Its  face  I  saw  not,  nor  its  sex 

Could  know,  but  it  seemed  fair  and  strong; 

It  trailed  a  golden  robe  along 
O'er  the  terrestrial  convex. 

Fierce  on  its  front  a  meteor  blazed, 
Its  crown  of  massy  gold.    Three  stars 
Shot  giant  lustre  forth  the  bars, 

Whelming  the  mortal  eye  that  gazed ! 

Two  semi-moons  its  wings, — a  storm 
Of  wind  whirled  through  the  upper  air, 
Charged  with  a  perfume  faint  and  fair, 

Then  closed  upon  that  vanished  form. 

Down  from  the  rayless  zenith  came 
Twin  corruscating  globes  that  turned 
To  liquid  brilliance  as  they  burned 

With  threshing  and  wild-darting  flame ! 


54  POESY  BANISHED. 

Then  something  like  a  sigh  was  heard, 
Vast  as  the  heave  of  earthly  seas, 
Deep  as  the  planetary  breeze 

That  once  the  primal  chaos  stirred. 

The  hissing  orbs  swirled  down  and  down, 
Then  wedded  close  the  Earth  in  air, 
Flashing  with  fiery  splendor  there, — 

Lost  jewels  from  her  ruddy  crown. 

These  were  the  tears  that  Poetry 
Had  wept  upon  its  Godward  flight, 
This  was  the  shape  that  cleft  the  night 

Within  the  void's  unfathomed  sea! 

Up  from  the  nether  world  was  cast 
The  pulsing  roar  of  engines'  beat, 
The  clink  of  coin,  the  rush  of  feet, 

The  smoke,  the  glare  of  cities  vast. 


THE  HAPPY  HOURS.  55 


THE    HAPPY    HOURS. 

I  walked  with  thee  in  the  sunshine, 

In  the  starshine 

And  the  rain ;  — 
And  dark  night  and  cloudiest  weather 

Saw  us  twain, 

Hand  in  hand,  walking  together — 
Shall  we  ne'er  walk  so  again  ? 

Only  the  trees  in  the  forest, 

Or  the  dumb  walls 

Saw  us  kiss, 
Saw  what  a  rapture  then  thrilled  us 

With  its  bliss, 

Saw  our  hearts'  vintage  that  filled  us 
Ambrosial  goblets  from  this ! 

Or  whether  through  woods  or  the  city 
Crowded  with  shapes, 
Love  was  guide, 
And  we  both  felt  his  presence  immortal 

At  our  side; 

His  torch  threw  us  light  and  the  portal 
Of  joy  in  our  lives  opened  wide. 


56  THE  HAPPY  HOURS. 

That  was  the  Past, — and  this  Present, 

Love,  swiftly  flies 

And  is  Past ; 
When  Youth  and  its  Passion  shall  perish, 

Love  shall  last, — 

We  know  it !   We  nurse  it !   We  cherish 
The  heart's  great  covenant  fast. 

I  walked  with  thee  in  the  sunshine, 

In  the  starshine 

And  the  rain; — 
Age's  night  and  its  wild,  winter  weather 

Shall  see  twain, 

Hand  in  hand,  walking  together — 
Through  Life  to  the  end  of  its  lane. 


THE  SKIPPERS.  57 


THE    SKIPPERS. 

"  How  the  darkening  days  flow  by ! 
Daily  we  grow  old  and  older, 
Daily  our  warm  blood  runs  colder, 

Daily,  breath  by  breath,  we  die." 

Thus  the  gray-beard  spoke — four  score 
Years  his  ancient  poll  had  whitened, — 
And  his  faded  orbs  once  brightened, 

Then  grew  dimmer  than  before. 

"  Soon  must  come  the  anchor's  fall, — 
The  all-hailed  and  blest  conclusion; — 
Let  not  terror  nor  confusion 

Seize  thy  soul  at  Azrael's  call." 

All  to  me  the  Sage  addressed 
Wisest  words, — his  eye,  dim-seeing, 
Scarce  beheld  the  radiant  being 

That  against  my  side  had  pressed. 

"  Skipper  in  Life's  fever-ship, 

When  the  World-sea  winds  shall  smite  thee, 
When  men's  serpent  teeth  shall  bite  thee, 

Curses  vast  shall  crowd  thy  lip. 


58  THE  SKIPPERS. 


"  Many  seas  I  voyaged  o'er, 

Youngling,  ere  I  brought  to  harbor — 
Now  from  out  this  green-grown  arbor , 

In  yon  skies  behold  my  shore ! 

"  Fire  and  fast  and  storm  my  part ; 
Deep  and  dread  the  Past's  dark  ocean 
Rolls  o'er  wrecks  of  mad  emotion 

Bound  by  cordage  of  the  heart. 

"  On  the  reefs  of  Passion  lie 

Faiths  I  held  ere  Woman  faltered, 
All  thy  fair  world  shall  be  altered 

When  thy  Love's  illusions  die. 

"  Through  and  through  the  sea-paths  lone 
Shone  no  Northwest  Passage  later, 
Ere  I  sailed  from  Youth's  Equator 

Unto  Age's  Arctic  Zone. 

"  Bound  in  ice  my  joy-dreams  wild, 
Even  as  thine  shall  be,  young  brother, — 
Soon  our  kind  and  earthen  Mother 

Claims  her  Life-a-weary  child! 

"  Close  beneath  thy  manly  bloom, 
I  behold  a  spectre  grinning, 
Culling  from  thy  brows  the  thinning 

Locks  that  sorrow  must  consume. 


THE  SKIPPERS.  59 


"  Close  beneath  that  visage  fresh 
Of  yon  maid  thy  presence  gracing, 
I  behold  a  worm  defacing 

All  her  beauty  of  the  flesh." 

"  Speak  no  more !  "  I  cried,  "  too  much 
Hast  thou  spoken  in  thy  madness, — 
Wouldst  thou  mar  her  May-time  gladness, 

Whom  no  chilling  breath  must  touch? 

"  Tell  him,  treasured  one,  the  Truth ! 

Tell  of  Love  the  seas  outlasting ; 

Tell  of  hearts  no  woe  is  blasting; 
Tell  of  flowers  blown  from  youth." 

On  his  beard  a  kiss  she  pressed, — 

Then  the  young  time  blessed  the  olden, 
Then  his  silvern  paled  her  golden 

Hair  that  showered  o'er  his  breast. 

In  his  ear  she  breathed  a  word, 
Magic  word  of  might  beguiling, 
Soon  his  iron  face  to  smiling 

Melted  and  his  heart  was  stirred. 

All  his  creed  of  Woe  and  Fear, 

At  the  voice  of  Beauty's  daughter, 
Vanished  like  the  snow  to  water 

And  was  cancelled  with  a  tear. 


60  THE  SKIPPERS. 


Like  ripe  harvest  grain  to  wind, 
On  his  breast  his  head  sank  lower, 
Harvest  grain  that  waits  the  mower, 

The  mute  mower,  stern,  yet  kind. 

Thus  we  left  him,  she  and  I, 

Still  and  lonely  like  a  mountain 

Crowned  with  peace,  from  which  a  fountain 
Calls  the  Spring-time  flowering  by. 


THE  EARTH-VOICES.  61 


THE   EARTH-VOICES. 

A  sweet  bird  sat  a-singing,  a-singing,  a-singing, 
Hidden  in  its  lofty  house  of  leaves  above  my  head, — 
Blithely  through  the  air  its  rich  melody  came  ringing 
And  struck  into  my  heart  of  heart  that  had  so  often 
bled. 

But  the  burthen  of  its  song — 
Or  high  or  low,  but  ye  can  know 

Who  suffer  and  who  long ! 
It  sang :  "  I  sing  because  I  die ; 

I  sing  for  all  yet  know  not  why, 
And  Death  alone  shall  still  my  tone, 
Or  whether  on  the  greenest  bough  or  in  the 

bluest  sky. 

Though  all  things  shall  be  changed  to  dust, 
Though  the  trees  may  die  and  the  leaves  they 

must." 
The  sweet  bird  sat  a-singing  its  thrice  unhappy  song. 

A  fair  maid  sat  a-singing,  a-singing,  a-singing; 
Her  listening  lover  stood  apart  and  joy  was  in  his 

face ; — 
He  laughed,  he  ran,  he  kissed  her,  his  arms  about  her 

flinging : 


62  THE  EARTH-VOICES. 

My  memory  leaped,  a  burning  thing, — I  left  the  blessed 
place. 

But  the  burthen  of  her  song — 
Or  high  or  low,  but  ye  can  know 

Who  suffer  and  who  long ! 
She  sang :  "  I  sing  because  I  love ; 

I  sing  like  yonder  bird  above, 
And  love  is  theme  of  every  dream 
That  fancy  weaves  me  day  by  day,  or  through 

my  heart  may  rove. 

Small  care  though  all  be  doomed  to  dust — 
But  that  love  should  die ! — as  the  lovers  must." 
The  fair  maid  sat  a-singing  her  sweet,  her  tristful  song. 

A  mother  sat  a-singing,  a-singing,  a-singing, 
Slowly  swayed  the  cradle  that  held  all  her  happiness, 
And  ever  as  she  rocked  she  bent  above  the  cradle 

swinging, 
And  ever  as  she  bent,  her  words  fell  like  a  soft  caress. 

But  the  burthen  of  her  song — 
Or  high  or  low,  but  ye  can  know 

Who  suffer  and  who  long ! 
She  sang :  "  I  sing  because  I  give 

My  life,  my  love,  so  he  may  live, 
The  babe  I  bore — to  me  far  more 
Than  is  the  man  I  hold  as  dead,  whose  love 
was  fugitive. 


THE  EARTH-VOICES.  63 

O  woe,  my  child,  that  thou  art  dust ! 
That  the  young  may  die  as  the  old  they  must !" 
A  mother  sat  a-singing  this  unending  human  song. 

A  poet  sat  a-singing,  a-singing,  a-singing 

Vast  melodies  from  forth  his  heart  that  pealed  like 

Memnon's  stone, 
Or  whether  wild   with  joy  the  notes   or   sore  with 

sorrow  ringing — 

They  were  but  chorus  to  your  souls,  re-echoed  from 
his  own. 

For  the  burthen  of  his  song — 
Or  high  or  low,  but  ye  can  know 

Who  suffer  and  who  long! 
He  sang :  "  I  sing  because  I  feel 
What  I  can  nevermore  reveal. 
No  song  hath  might  to  rend  the  night 
Wherein  the  gods  in  mercy  all  the  after-worlds 

conceal. 

Yet  peace!  ye  spirits  robed  in  dust — 
For  the  young  may  know  and  the  old  they  must !  " 
The  poet  sat  a-singing  this  eternal,  tragic  song. 


64  THE  INTERIM. 


THE    INTERIM. 

Veiled  with  thy  hair,  thy  features  draw 

My  gaze — and  Love  is  dumb  with  awe. 

Still,  still  the  voiceless  void  of  Nought, 

Sends  forth  unconquered  one  dread  thought ; 

'T  is  a  sharp  flame  my  heart  to  sear — 

Listen,  my  love,  and  do  not  fear. 

O,  when  that  day  of  dread  is  due, 

When  part  we  must,  we  hapless  two ; 

Remember!  all  the  time  that  flies 

When  drowned  with  earth  this  body  lies, 

Is  but  a  briefer  day  than  this, 

Far  briefer  than  our  briefest  kiss. 

^Eons  on  aeons  waste  away; 

And  what  to  us? — a  second's  stay, 

An  interlude  that  angels  play. 

The  Soul  may  live  by  Will  and  Strife, 

Since  Life  is  but  the  way  to  Life. 

What  hope  holds  the  unknowable, 

Save  hope  that  I  with  thee  may  dwell  ? 

Heaven  with  thee,  without  thee  Hell. 

Awakened  by  strange  morning  light, 

Fair  in  our  faces  after  night, 

We  shall  arise  new  life  to  greet 

Like  travelers  from  distant  lands, 

With  lips  to  lips  and  hands  in  hands, 

When  Death  makes  Life  complete. 


YOSEMITE.  65 


YOSEMITE. 

Thou  hast  Earth's  utmost  beauty,  mighty  gem 
Of  ice- wrought  granite  from  the  hand  of  God ! 
And  never  man  thy  purple  deeps  hath  trod, 

But  he  hath  felt  the  awe  that  mantles  them. 

Thou  art  the  loveliest  poem  of  Nature ;  thou 
Art  Music,  Mystery  and  Magnitude! 
What  eye  e'er  thy  majestic  glory  viewed, 

But  wept  and  led  the  shaken  soul  to  bow ! 


66  SAVIOR  OF  THE  SEQUOIAS. 


SAVIOR   OF   THE    SEQUOIAS. 
(To  Josephine  Clifford  McCrackin.) 

The  Titans  of  the  forest,  to  the  west  winds  sprung 

forth  from  the  sea, 
Give  them,  O  worthy  'mongst  women,  their  thanks 

and  their  greetings  for  thee! 
When,  under  their  ancient,   o'er-arching  arms,   your 

feet  shall  bestir  the  grass, 
Bright  dews  from  their  boughs  shall  be  shaken  on  the 

snows  of  your  head  as  you  pass. 
From  their  roots,  clutching  deep  in  the  earth,  to  each 

patriarch's  head  in  the  skies, 
The  race  of  these  giants  had  vanished,  as  the  race  of 

mortals  dies; 
Coeval  with  Earth  and  defying  Time,  they  had  perished 

by  the  blade, 
If  never  your  pitying  heart  and  hand  the  hand  of  the 

vandal  had  stayed. 
Therefore,  in  the  forest  silences,  in  the  tongue  of  the 

noblest  trees, 
A  name  is  whispered  with  love  to  the  winds  in  their 

twilight  symphonies. 
They  that  are   older  than   Egypt  or   Ind   and  shall 

outlive  the  Ultimate  Man — 


SAVIOR  OF  THE  SEQUOIAS.  67 

The  deathless  sequoias  immortal  shall  hold  that  name 

like  the  spirit  of  Pan. 
T  is  for  this  that  the  bearded  Titans  to  the  west  winds 

sprung  forth  from  the  sea, 
Give  them,  O  worthy  'mongst  women,  their  thanks 

and  their  greetings  for  thee ! 


68  OUT  OF  CHARYBDIS. 


OUT    OF   CHARYBDIS. 

The  drone  of  the  sea 

Lulled  me  to  sleep  and  I  dreamt  of  thee ; — 
The  light  of  thy  mightiest  love  enwound  thee 
And  lay  like  the  mantle  of  Mary  around  thee ! 

Love  enwound  thee 

And  lay  like  the  virtue  of  Mary  around  thee. 
The  winds  through  the  sails  with  low  choruses 

rang 
And  bore  to  me  songs  that  thy  lips  once  sang. 

Their  choruses  rang 

Sweet  with  the  songs  that  thy  lips  once  sang. 
And  he,  the  good  daemon  that  guarded  my  breast, 
Caught  up  the  strain,  and  my  fancy  the  rest. 

The  heart  in  my  breast 
Thrilled  with  the  strain — Fancy  brought  me  the 

rest; 

I  felt  every  throb  of  thy  blest  heart  repeating : 
Our  love  is  eternal, — the  world  it  is  fleeting ! 


OUT  OF  CHARYBDIS.  69 

Thy  wild  heart  repeating : 

Our  love  is  eternal, — though  all  things  be  fleeting ! 
I  felt  this — I  felt  all  thy  kisses  as  warm 
As  when  my  swift  arms  had  encinctured  thy  form. 

Thy  kisses  were  warm 

As  when  thy  soft  arms  had  encircled  my  form — 
Thou  wast  mine! — O,  all  changed  to  embraces 

as  cold 
As  those  the  sea  hath  for  her  lovers  untold ! 

Embraces  how  cold! 

When  she  clips  to  her  bosom  her  lovers  untold. 
Down  to  the  floor  of  the  floods  sank  the  ship 
And  I  with  the  sound  of  thy  name  on  my  lip. 

Down,  down  with  the  ship, — 
My  prayer  was  the  sound  of  thy  name  from  my 

lip! 
Now  God's  Heaven  is  Heaven  the  more  at  thy 

side: 
This  is  the  tale  how  I  loved  thee  and  died ! 


70  SEMPER. 


SEMPER. 

So  oft  thy  hand  was  laid  in  mine, 

So  oft  our  lips  have  met, 
So  oft  thy  heart's  great  pulse  divine 

Throbbed  here — who  can  forget? 

Never  seemed  day  fair  day,  save  we 

Saw  day  within  our  eyes, 
Whilst  night  a  treble  night  would  be 

That  barred  our  Paradise. 

Few  words  we  spoke,  each  speaking  heart 
Held  parle  more  wild  and  fast; 

We  swore  that  we  should  never  part; 
We  swore  our  love  should  last ! 

Swift  roll  the  brief  and  briefer  years 

Bearing  our  lives  away; 
We  loved!    We  love! — the  very  spheres 

Shall  crumble  to  decay — 

Shall  crumble  to  decay  and  rust, 
Ere  that  our  love  should  end, — 

In  God's  Jehosaphat  our  dust 
Shall  from  one  tomb  ascend! 


MARTINIQUE. 


MARTINIQUE. 

A  suspiration  quivers  from  the  ground — 

Death's  weary  sigh,  through  town  and  valley  fair; 

A  dreadful  chill,  as  at  the  Gorgon's  stare, 
Streams  from  some  hidden  terror  all  unbound. 
Mark,  how  the  crater's  fiery  head  is  crowned 

With  clouds  and  frenzied  winds  that  lash  the  air. 

Woe!    Woe!   ye  pleasant  places  smiling  there — 
Such  doom  have  Sodom  and  Pompeii  found! 
Open  the  infernal  cauldron  roaring  flies 

In  vapor,  thunder-bursts  and  flaming  rain; 
Seas  leap  the  clouds  and  Hell  all  Heaven  defies — 

Of  man  and  all  his  toil  what  marks  remain? 

A  shaft  that  soars  to  chaos  on  the  plain — 
An  arm  to  God  upstretched  'neath  ashen  skies. 


72  THE  DEPARTED  ONE. 


THE   DEPARTED    ONE. 

Thy  soul  above  all  souls  must  I  adore 

And  worship  its  great  Presence  in  thine  eyes, 
Lights  dowered  with  a  ray  from  Paradise, 

Whose  light  is  Love,  as  Love  is  Heaven's  core. 

So  much  I  hoped  not  and  dare  hope  no  more 
Than  but  to  watch  thee  in  those  utmost  skies, 
For  me  the  loveliest  of  all  stars  that  rise 

Joyous  unto  the  night  with  all  their  lore. 

Did  I  not  know  thee  once,  not  long  ago, 
Ere  ever  gathered  in  this  life's  small  shell? 

Can  doubt  make  ebb  the  heart's  flood, — when 

the  soul 
Cries  out  beyond  the  world  it  loves  thee  well? 

Yet  the  Lethean  river  parts  us —  O, 
What  mists  from  up  its  silent  waters  roll! 


PHANTASMAGORIA.  73 


PHANTASMAGORIA. 

Lost  on  this  shadowland's  phantasmal  shore, 

By  the  bleak  moor  I  stand,  whose  utmost  bound 
Glooms  to  the  realms  of  kings  huge  sorrows  crowned 

With  iron  crowns  and  Woe  that  dies  no  more, 

No  more  while   Memory   lives.     Clouds   roll,   winds 

roar 
Wild  through   the   spectral  heavens   where   spirits 

drowned 
With  pain,  float  on  the  gray  air-deeps ; — no  sound 

Save  sighing  o'er  those  scenes  well-loved  of  yore. 

Unhappy,  wandering  shapes !    with  torment  dire 
In  this  cloud-purgatory  pent,  in  view 
Of  coolest  skies  and  waters  meek  and  blue 

As  Jesus'  eye,  you  feel  once  more  the  fire 

Of  old  Earth  passionate  ere  you  expire 

In  mists,  where  weakly  this  sad  sun  shines  through. 


74  TO  DR.  C.  W.  DOYLE. 


TO    DR.    C.    W.    DOYLE. 

Dear  Doyle,  mine  elder  brother  in  the  art 

That  fires  the  world  to  beauty  and  whose  powers, 
Though  the  gods'  gift  to  us  are  not  all  ours, 

Nor  ours  alone  the  rapture  of  the  heart, 

Since  men  from  us  may  claim  their  rightful  part; — 
Those  days  bloom  in  my  memory's  richest  bowers, 
Days  on  that  foaming  shore  beside  the  flowers, 

O'er  many  a  tale  to  make  the  brave  blood  start! 

Tales  reaped  from  out  that  mystic  morning  land, 
Thine  India,  rich  with  love  or  hate  or  crime, 

Where  man  breathes  undebased  by  the  hand 
Of  Progress  that  that  aged  us  ere  our  time. 

There,  sure,  the  soul  of  Nature  dwells  unbanned 
Where  ring  such  mighty  echoes  of  her  Prime ! 


ADIEU,  ADIEU!  75 


ADIEU,    ADIEU! 

All  the  doubt,  the  delusion  is  over, 

Yet  forever  shall  linger  the  pain, 
And  the  sorrow  my  breast  must  uncover 

To  thee,  O  beloved  in  vain! 
On  the  radiant  dreams  of  the  dawning 

Of  a  love  far  too  happy  for  me, 
Night  has  set,  still  my  dream  of  the  morning 

Was  but  this :  to  be  loved  by  thee. 

Oh,  for  thee  I  once  builded  a  palace 

Of  the  starriest  gems,  in  my  soul, 
And  sipped  joy  from  the  rim  of  the  chalice 

Of  Life — of  which  thou  wast  the  Whole. 
That  palace  is  ruin,  and  sorrow 

With  phantoms  my  bosom  has  filled, 
Sighing  far  through  To-day  and  To-morrow 

"  Our  voices  shall  never  be  stilled." 

Love,  thou  wast  to  me  what  in  Heaven, 
The  Lord  to  the  angels  must  be, 

And  the  love  they  give  Him  could  not  even 
Exceed  the  vast  love  I  gave  thee ! 


76  ADIEU,  ADIEU! 


0  my  sun,  O  pure  star  ever-shining, 
When  blackness  my  world  over-cast, 

When  to  thee  in  thy  goodness  my  pining, 
Sad  soul  clung  so  fondly,  so  fast. 

There  was  nought,  there  is  nought  that  could 
sever 

My  soul  and  my  soul's  love  from  thine. 
We  have  met ;  we  have  parted  forever ; 

All  the  tears,  all  the  longing  be  mine! 

1  have  strength  to  bear  all  that  has  lost  me 
My  all, — strength  to  bear  all  its  pain, 

And  strength  still  to  love,  but 't  would  cost  me 
Too  much  to  behold  thee  again ! 

Ah,  could  I  but  forget  vanished  blisses, 

From  that  Heaven  of  our  own  happiness, 
Could  I  lose  multitudinous  kisses, 

Nor  recall  each  so-ardent  caress ! 
It  were  light  as  the  flight  of  a  feather 

To  count  thee  with  transient  things, 
Had  our  hearts  ne'er  been  welded  together 

By  Passion  and  the  heat  of  his  wings. 

O  God !  at  the  last  hour's  tolling 

I  knew  that  I  loved  her  alone; 
O'er  my  heart  Thy  sad  angels  were  rolling 

In  my  blood,  a  cold  burial-stone, 


ADIEU,  ADIEU!  77 


Then  I  knew  that  we  loved  far  too  blindly, 
My  darling,  my  heart,  not  to  fall, 

Yet  those  lips  kissed  so  oft  answered  kindly : 
"  Love  excepts  not  who  holds  us  in  thrall." 

Alas,  for  the  Good  doomed  to  perish, 

And  the  Beautiful  nothing  can  save ! 
Alas,  that  on  Earth  all  we  cherish 

Sinks  into  Despair  or  the  Grave ! 
Blindly  in  dreams  we  have  faltered, 

In  hopes  and  in  visions  and  dreams; — 
Are  the  Good  and  the  Beautiful  altered 

To  the  world  and  the  waste  that  it  seems  ? 

All  the  doubt,  the  delusion  is  over, 

Yet  forever  shall  linger  the  pain, 
And  the  sorrow  my  breast  must  uncover 

To  thee,  O  beloved  in  vain! 
On  the  radiant  dreams  of  the  dawning 

Of  a  love  far  too  happy  for  me, 
Night  has  set,  still  my  dream  of  the  morning 

Was  but  this :   to  be  loved  by  thee. 


78  EPILOGUE  EVERLASTING. 


EPILOGUE   EVERLASTING. 

The  roses  are  withered;  their  petals  have  flown; 

Their  life  and  their  perfume  are  past. 
The  roses  were  many,  but  now  there  is  none. 

The  last  rose  has  perished — the  last! 

The  laboring  tides  sweep  the  sea;  in  their  might 
They  bear  the  brave  ship  with  its  mast. 

The  black  waters   league  with  the  whirlwinds  at 

night — 
The  ship  is  up-swallowed  at  last. 

The  broken  heart  and  the  heart  that  it  broke, 

And  Passion's  soul-withering  blast, 
And  Sorrow  and  Joy  have  evanished  like  smoke, 

And  both  hearts  lie  quiet  at  last. 

Perished  their  love  lies  and  perished  their  hate; 

Pain,  misery,  rapture  all  past! 
When  joy  far  too  great  brings  us  sorrow  too  great — 

It  seems  but  the  sorrow  can  last. 


EPILOGUE  EVERLASTING.  79 

All  the  hopes  of  Life  and  the  hopes  of  Love 
Must  the  shadow  of  Death  overcast? 

O,  must  the  shade  follow  the  shine  from  above  ? 
Must  all  things  be  nothing  at  last? 

All  things  are  nothing  at  last.    All  is  one 
With  the  roses  whose  perfume  is  past. 

Ah,  the  roses  were  many,  the  roses  are  gone. 
The  last  rose  has  perished — the  last! 


8o  LOVE  RESURGENT. 


LOVE   RESURGENT 

Forth  from  the  ashes  of  Hope, 

Girded  with  strength  like  the  hair 

Of  the  Samson,  arisen  to  cope 

With  chimeras  of  Death  and  Despair, — 

Mount,  Love — like  a  militant  star, 

Burn  with  pale  flare  through  thy  night ! 

The  clouds  that  enshrouded  thee  are 
As  shadows  dissolved  by  thy  light. 

Winged  by  the  Soul  and  the  Mind, 
Spurred  by  the  stroke  of  the  Heart, 

Where  shalt  thou  seek  or  where  find 
Thy  mate — thy  counterpart? 

Thou  art  a  fragment  from  Heaven; 

Thou  art  a  spark  from  its  flame ; 
Thou  art  all  Life  and  its  leaven — 

And  God  is  thy  holiest  name ! 


LILITH  OF  ELD.  81 


LILITH    OF    ELD. 

They  tasted  the  sweet  despair 
That  flowed  from  her  mortal  kiss, 

And  they  hung  by  one  silken  hair 
Above  a  black  abyss! 

For  many  had  gone  to  wreck 
On  the  gleam  of  her  coral  lips, 

By  her  shining  finger's  beck 
That  boded  no  eclipse. 

Then  her  smile  had  buried  them 
As  the  waves  the  broken  bark, 

For  what  could  bide  or  stem 
That  magic  dread  and  dark? 

Deep  down  from  her  starry  eyes 
The  path  led  straight  to  hell, 

And  never  the  soul  could  rise 
That  to  their  bottom  fell. 

She  trod  on  the  hearts  of  men, 
As  they  were  pavement  stones; 

She  danced,  a  light  o'  the  fen, 
Across  their  charnel  bones. 


82  LILITH  OF  ELD. 


And  the  thoughts !   the  thoughts  that  rushed 

Like  eagles  from  her  eye — 
And  the  smile — the  smile  that  crushed 

The  slaves  it  lured  to  die. 

But  a  curse  fell  out  of  the  night; 

It  singled  forth  her  head ; 
She  vanished  out  of  our  sight 

And  the  world  cried:  She  is  dead! 

She  lived !  she  loved !  she  mourned ! 

For  a  love  she  ne'er  could  own ; 
Her  heart  was  racked  and  scorned 

With  the  vengeance  she  had  sown. 

And  he,  to  whom  this  tale 

She  told,  lives  doomed  to  write 

The  terror,  tears  and  bale 

Of  her — through  night  and  night. 


MAIDEN  OF  MADNESS.  83 


MAIDEN    OF    MADNESS. 

The  longing  and  inveighing 

Are  gone — the  doubt,  the  pain; 
The  nights  my  soul  dismaying, 
Not  once  my  head  down-laying, 
Whilst   thoughts   of  thee  kept   preying 

Upon  my  heart  and  brain, 
And  whilst  a  voice  kept  saying 

That  all  would  be  in  vain — 

All  love  would  be  in  vain ! 

That  voice  hath  truly  spoken, — 

Might  I  have  heard  before! 
Ere  my  sad  heart  was  broken 
For  thy  triumphant  token, 
Before  Love's  great  tree  oaken 

Fell  blasted  to  the  core; — 
Ye  angels  mild,  invoken 

By  sorrow,  sigh  no  more, 

Ye  angels  weep  no  more! 

The  world  to  mist  has  faded, 
One  waste  and  moaning  sea 


84  MAIDEN  OF  MADNESS. 

By  maddened  ghosts  invaded, 
Whose  midnight  shapes  have  shaded 
Those  once  fair  fields  that  traded 

Their  joy  so  full  and  free; — 
Through  Hell's  dire  stream  I  've  waded, 

And  Life  is  dust  to  me — 

Ashes  and  dust  to  me. 


COMPLAINT.  85 


COMPLAINT. 

She  was  fond  of  tragedies — 
Loved  to  read  of  death  and  woe. 

"  I  shall  write  thee  one,"  said  I — 
"  One  that  shall  be  comme  il  faut." 

Then  I  wrote  in  strains  romantic, 
In  a  solemn,  joyless  tone — 

All  the  sorrows  of  another, 

When  I  might  have  writ  my  own. 

Yes,  my  love,  believe  me,  truly; 

If  thine  eyes  my  heart  might  see, 
They  might  read  a  tragic  story 

That  was  written  there  by  thee. 


86  PAST  AND  PRESENT. 


PAST    AND    PRESENT 

Once  again  I  see  those  houses — 
Wander  in  those  streets  once  more, 

Where,  eleven  years  before, 
I  was  happy,  O  Estrella. 

Me  the  moon  nigh  drew  to  weeping 
Tears  of  salt,  which  I  abhor; 

Yet,  eleven  years  before, 

We  were  happy  both,  Estrella. 

Now  a  feeling,  through  me  stealing, 
Saddens  all  my  bosom's  core — 

As  eleven  years  before, 

You  are  happy  still,  Estrella. 


THE  WORM.  87 


THE    WORM. 

Vanished  is  his  misery, 

Almost  vanished  is  his  pain. 
Nay,  by  Jove,  if  this  continue 

Soon  he  '11  eat  and  sleep  again ! 
Yet,  't  is  true  his  food  is  tasteless 

And  his  slumber  brings  no  rest. 
'T  is  that  dismal  guest  called  Sorrow 

Sleeps  and  eats  within  his  breast. 


MISERERE. 


MISERERE. 

The  last  few  prayers  are  done, 

The  pall  and  shroud  are  spread ; 
Seven  tapers  at  thy  feet 

And  seven  at  thy  head. 
Thy  hands  are  crossed  upon 

Thy  bosom  white  where  now 
Thy  heart  is  stilled.    O  Death, 

How  beautiful  art  thou! 


THE  ANGEL  IN  EXILE.  89 


THE   ANGEL    IN    EXILE. 

Many — many — many 

Were  the  tears  she  shed, 
Tears,  tears  as  fair  as  any 

Fair  roses  white  or  red, 

Or  lilies  in  their  bed, — 
Pale  lilies,  rare  as  any 

That  now  bloom  o'er  her  head. 

At  last  the  heart  was  broken; 

Like  a  golden  shell 
It  spilt  its  life— the  token 

Proclaiming  all  was  well 

With  her  where  seraphs  dwell, 
Where  only  Love  is  spoken, — 

A  tongue  we  cannot  spell. 

With  love  brought  down  from  Heaven 

Her  evil  hap  began, 
That  love  to  God  once  given, 

Was  cast  away  on  man. 

Yet  a  milk-white  lustre  ran 
In  flame  through  skies  at  even, 

When  the  Lord  removed  his  ban. 


90  THE  QUEST  ETERNAL. 


THE    QUEST    ETERNAL. 

Still  shall  I  hew  thee  out  of  dreams, 
Still  limn  thee  day  by  day, — 

O  thou,  whose  face  too  saintly  seems 
In  mists  to  pass  away ! 

Who  comest  at  the  pause  of  night 
From  out  the  spirit  realm, — 

Celestial   exhalation!   light 
That  dost  my  soul  o'erwhelm. 

Would  I  might  seize  thee  as  thou  art, 

And  keep  thee  till  the  day, 
Then  shouldst  thou  nevermore  depart 

Upon  the  pale  dawn's  ray. 

What  art  thou? — vision,  sprite  or  muse; 

Speak !  so  my  tongue  may  well 
The  glory  of  thy  brow  transfuse 

Throughout  this  earthen  shell. 

Helen  or  Eve  or  Ashtaroth  ! — 

Or,  fairer  far  than  these, 
Mary,  who  treads  the  tops  of  both 

The  heavens  and  the  seas, 


THE  QUEST  ETERNAL.  91 


Descend  no  more  my  soul  to  tear 
When,  waked  from  slumber's  bliss, 

I  taste  terrestrial  despair 
From  thy  remembered  kiss ! 

Or  veil  thee,  as  the  statue  veiled, 

In  Sais,  stood  of  old; — 
The  terrors  of  thy  beauty,  mailed, 

Shall  leave  my  senses  cold. 

Speak  then  to  me  the  mystic  word 
That  spells  thine  awful  name, 

And  Earth  unto  her  center  stirred 
Shall  shudder  at  its  flame. 

Then  shall  the  maddening  fever  die 
That  haunts  me  and  that  hounds, 

The  heart's  fire  and  the  head's  and  my 
Sore  weight  of  human  wounds. 

Or  vain  shall  be  thy  grace  to  save, 
And  curst  my  deathless  soul, — 

This  globe  of  glory  but  a  cave, 
Sullen  and  bleak  with  dole. 

I  know  thou  wilt  not  speak,  I  know 
Thy  name  rests  unrevealed; — 

Over  the  broad,  high  world  I  go 
To  seek  the  long-concealed. 


92  THE  QUEST  ETERNAL. 

Until  Ahasuerus'  road 
Eternal  grows  mine  own; 

I  take  my  staff,  I  take  my  load, 
I  seek  thee,  Truth,  alone! 


IN  MEMORY  OF  DR.  C.  W.  DOYLE.  93 


IN  MEMORY  OF  DR.  C.  W.  DOYLE. 

Peace,  peace  be  thine,  thou  gentle  soul,  and  rest; 

The  night  is  fallen  and  thy  journey  don?. 
Long  ran  the  bitter  way — within  this  West 

Thy  fervent  heart  sinks  quenched  like  the  sun. 

T  was  meet  Death  claimed  thee  as  a  prize  too  fair 
To  leave  to  Life  so  long — but,  O,  too  soon 

Passed  the  stern,  silent  angel  and  left  bare 
A  garden  in  our  breasts  at  central  noon. 

Departed  thou !  departed  joy  in  thee ! 

Rifled  again  the  heart's  close  chambers  throb, 
Yet  there  shall  glow  to  thy  dear  memory 

Shrines  hallowed  that  no  earthly  grief  can  rob. 

Goodness  thy  greatness  was — nor  this  alone 

For  the  white  muses  bent  and  kissed  thy  brow ; 

They  loved  the  tongue  they  taught — for  all  their  own 
They  claim  thy  labors,  life  and  laurels  now. 

Blest  in  the  shining  conclaves  of  the  great, 
Full  sure  thy  adoring  spirit  moves  at  last, — 

Humble  thy  living  reverence  for  their  state 
Was  ever — nor  that  love  lies  in  the  past. 


94  IN  MEMORY  OF  DR.  C.  W.  DOYLE. 

Go  seek  the  immortal  masters,  seek  and  find — 
Whose  kingly  company  on  Earth  was  still 

Thy  solace  and  devotion,  mind  of  mind 
Asks  or  is  answered :    What  is  human  ill  ? 

On  thee  no  more  Fate's  wounding  winds  shall  blow ; 

Thy  burthen  hast  thou  borne,  nor  didst  rebel. 
Friend,  gentle,  loving  friend  and  true — for  O, 

Loving  and  true  wast  thou  to  all, — farewell ! 

Farewell!  wake  here  no  more.    Shall  we  accuse 
The  releasing  summons  that  for  thee  has  come  ? 

Nay,  nor  shall  grief  pent-up  in  flesh  refuse 

Love's  tribute  tear — a  line — and  sorrow  dumb. 


MISANTHROPOS  IN  EXTREMIS.  95 


MISANTHROPOS    IN    EXTREMIS. 

In  this  huge  antique  chair  I  sit — 

Many  a  ghost  hath  haunted  it; 

With  my  body  coarsely  drest 

In  a  sackcloth  coat  and  vest. 

On  this  world-worn  head  I  throw 

Cold  ashes  of  the  long  ago, 

Upon  the  locks  that  women  fair 

Oft  kissed ! — no  matter  when  nor  where. 

This  morn — it  is  the  festal  morn 
Of  the  blest  day  that  I  was  born. 
No  more,  no  more  let  it  be  said 
That  I  no  due  observance  paid. 
Deaden  all  my  house's  ears; 
When  the  noisy  noon-day  nears — 
How  I  the  garish  day  despise ! — 
Fasten  close  my  house's  eyes. 
Good !  't  is  night  within  the  room ; 
The  living  may  enjoy  their  tomb, 
For  Earth  is  blackened  with  a  blight; 
A  million  wasteful  suns  cannot  dispel  the 
night. 


96  MISANTHROPOS  IN  EXTREMIS. 

Tapers  two  upon  the  table 
Light,  and  if  thine  arms  be  able, 
Lift  me  yon  huge  Bible — quick ! 
Read  me  prayers  for  the  dead  and  sick. 
Read  low,  I  say — for  Jesus'  sake ! 
Thy  voice  the  envied  dead  would  wake. 
Give  here — for  I,  myself,  the  holy 
Verse  of  Job  will  now  chant  slowly. 
Birthdays  come,  with  them  revealing, 
Job,  for  thee,  a  brother-feeling. 
Blackest  Birthdays!    Why  with  mirth 
Does  man  celebrate  his  birth? 
Properly,  O  Job,  we  mourn 
That  night  the  man-child  was  conceived 
And  that  day  that  He  was  born. 
Job!    Job!     intercede  for  me 
With  the  Lord — He  loveth  thee. 

Now  the  lights  are  quelled!    I  hear 
Gibbering,  laughing  demons  near! 
Old  Earth  shakes  within  a  storm, 
Rushing  down  comes  an  angel's  form, 
Down  from  black  skies  rent  in  sunder ! 
Now  I  sit  with  Night  and  wonder. 
Lost !   both  worlds  to  me  and  gone ! — 
O  God,  too  true,  at  last,  at  last, 
At  last  I  am  alone ! 


THE  WORLD-SOUL.  97 


THE   WORLD-SOUL. 

(From  the  German  of  Goethe.) 

Disperse  ye  through  all  regions  far  and  lonely 

Of  these  celestial  rounds; 
Enraptured  rush  through  dimmest  zones  where  only 

Is  space,  and  know  its  bounds. 

Now,  floating  in  the  distances  unmeasured, 

Ye  dream  the  god-head's  dream, 
And  shine,  the  fellows  of  each  fair  star  treasured 

In  yon  vast,  light-sown  Scheme. 

Rush  on,  rush  on,  O  comets  scarce  commanded, 

Deep  through  the  endless  Deep. 
This  labyrinth,  with  suns  and  planets  banded, 

Go  pierce  and  know  no  sleep. 

Ye  clasp  and  mould  the  Earths  that  it  was  bidden 

For  Progress  to  create, 
So  that  they  live  and  give  to  births  still  hidden 

Their  paths  commensurate. 

And  circling  through  the  living,  pregnant  spaces 

Your  wandering  veil  ye  lead. 
And  the  set  form  of  stones  in  deepest  places 

Is  by  your  might  decreed. 


08  THE  WORLD-SOUL. 

Thus  everything  itself  fain  overpasses — 

Where  heavenly  impulse  strives ; 
The  barren  water  mantles  with  green  masses ; 

The  atom  still  survives. 

Thus  all  destroys  through  love  which  lifts  and  rises, 

That  night  whence  vapors  well; 
Then  glow  the  splendid  fields  where  Paradise  is 

Ever  ineffable. 

Thence  soars  aloft,  a  sacred  light  beholding, 

A  pinioned  legion  fair. 
And  ye  are  mute  before  that  vast  unfolding — 

As  once  the  primal  pair. 

Yet  soon  is  lost  your  limitless  resistance, 

When  the  heavenly  glances  fall — 
Receive  ye  thus,  with  thanks,  a  blest  existence 

From  the  All  back  to  the  All. 


THE  DANCE  OF  THE  DEAD.  99 


THE   DANCE    OF   THE   DEAD. 

(Translated  from  the  German  of  Goethe.) 

The  sexton  peers  down  at  the  dead  of  the  night 
On  the  many  round  graves  all  a-row. 

Lo,  the  moon  hath  thrown  everything  into  the  light 
And  the  burial-ground  is  a-glow ! 

There  a  grave  'gins  to  rock,  and  another  one  here ; 

Here  the  women  step  forth,  there  the  men  re-appear 
In  the  whitest  and  longest  of  garments. 

Now  all  start  to  squirm  with  a  terrible  itch 
And  the  bones  join  in  merry-go-round, 

The  poor  and  the  young  and  the  old  and  the  rich, 
Though  their  shrouds  hinder  many  a  bound. 

Since  Modesty  here  is  no  longer  of  use, 

They  rattle  themselves  and  the  linen  flies  loose 
And  is  scattered  o'er  many  a  hillock. 

The  femurs  are  lifted,  the  feet  caper  spry 

And  the  movements  are  made  with  a  dash. 

There  's  a  rattle  and  clatter  arising  on  high, 
As  if  sticks  had  been  struck  with  a  crash. 

All  this  the  poor  sexton  has  stricken  with  fear, 

And  the  devil,  the  clown,  whispers  into  his  ear : 
"Go,  steal  away  one  of  the  cerements." 


ioo  THE  DANCE  OF  THE  DEAD. 

It  was  said !  It  was  done !  and  he  hurries  his  flight 

Behind  the  thrice-sanctified  door; 
The  moon  whitens  still  with  mysterious  light 

All  the  hideous  dance  as  before. 
At  last,  one  by  one,  they  slip  softly  away, 
Enwrapped  in  their  shrouds,  and  are  under  the  clay 

And  under  the  grass  in  a  moment. 

Yet  one,  the  last  one,  trips  and  stumbles  around, 
And  snatches  and  claws  at  the  graves, 

But  never  a  fellow  his  shroud-cloth  has  found; — 
For  he  scents  it  aloft  where  it  waves. 

He  rattles  the  church-door;  it  hurles  him  a-back, 

'T  is  guarded  and  blest — or  else,  sexton  alack ! — 
It  glints  with  its  bright  metal  crosses. 

Yet  the  shroud  must  he  have,  and  the  time  is  so 
short ! 

He  must  have  it  or  nevermore  rest. 
So  the  knave  grasps  a  carved  Gothic  cap  for  support 

And  clambers  from  cresting  to  crest. 
Alas !   for  thee,  sexton !   what  hope  of  escape  ? 
From  crocket  to  crocket  the  horrible  shape 

Climbs  on  like  a  long-legged  spider. 

The  sexton  is  pale  and  stands  mute  and  aghast 
And  would  gladly  give  back  what  he  took! 


THE  DANCE  OF  THE  DEAD.       101 

Lo,   the  cloth  catches   now — he  has   breathed   his 
last!— 

By  its  end  on  an  old  iron  hook! 
Then  the  moon  'gins  to  fade  and  her  lustre  is  done; 
Below  as  the  terrible  bell  thunders:  "One!" 

The  skeleton  shatters  to  pieces ! 


102  SONG  FROM  "  FAUST.' 


SONG   FROM    "FAUST." 
(Translated  from  the  German.) 

There  was  a  King  of  Thule, 

To  whom,  when  near  her  grave, 

The  maid  he  loved  so  truly 
A  golden  beaker  gave. 

This  did  he  ever  treasure ; 

When  he  at  board  would  sit, 
His  tears  would  fill  its  measure 

When  e'er  he  drank  from  it. 

When  Life  his  frame  was  leaving, 

His  all  he  rendered  up 
To  heirs  and  knew  no  grieving, 

Yet  kept  his  golden  cup. 

Then  groaned  the  royal  tables, — 
Begirt  by  knights  was  he, 

High  in  those  halls  that  fables 
Still  tell  of  by  the  sea. 


SONG  FROM  -  FAUST."  103 

There  stood  the  old  king,  weaker 

And  drank  his  life's  last  wine, 
Then  tossed  the  sacred  beaker 

Far  down  into  the  brine. 

He  watched  it  fall,  and  filling, 

It  sank  into  the  main ; 
His  eyes  with  death  were  thrilling ; 

His  lips  ne'er  drank  again. 


104  GENIUS,  LOVE  AND  HATE. 


GENIUS,    LOVE   AND    HATE. 

"  Great  Wit  is  sure  to  Madness  near  allied, 
And  thin  partitions  do  their  bounds  divide," — 
But,  O,  how  thin  a  wall  doth  separate 
The  realms  of  endless  Love  and  endless  Hate ! 


THE  HARPER'S  SONG.  105 


THE    HARPER'S    SONG. 
(Translated  from  Goethe.) 

Who  ne'er  with  tears  did  eat  his  bread, 
Who  ne'er  through  sorrowful  night  hours, 

Sat  weeping  on  his  lonely  bed, 

He  knows  ye  not,  ye  heavenly  powers ! 

Ye  lead  us  into  Life  amain, 

Ye  leave  the  poor  soul  guilt  to  borrow, 
And  then  ye  give  it  o'er  to  pain ; 

For  guilt  to-day  finds  pain  to-morrow. 


io6  THE  SECOND  THOUGHT. 


THE  SECOND    THOUGHT. 

"  I  die  to-night,"  I  wrote  you, 

To  make  the  sum  complete. 
In  a  fortnight  how  you  started 

To  see  me  in  the  street ! 

Yet,  pistols  make  a  cruel  mess, 

And  daggers  I  despise, 
And  I  am  poison-proof,  for  I 

Drank  poison  from  your  eyes. 

So  am  I  forced  this  life  to  live, 

Nor  for  its  end  make  moan, 
For,  since  you  cannot  see  my  death, 

I  yet  may  see  your  own. 

'T  wixt  Life,  and  Death  for  you,  methinks, 

Life  is  the  lesser  evil ; 
The  being  dead  were  very  well, 

But  the  dying  is  the  devil. 


REVELATION.  107 


REVELATION. 

(The  Man  with  the  Hoe.) 

The  bard  stood  prophesying 
From  out  the  social  night. 

Both  hemispheres  were  lying 
Projected  in  his  sight. 

Mankind  lay  sick,  lay  dying 
For  Brother-love,  for  Right. 

Came  this  rapt  word-magician, 
His  rhythmic  rites  began; 

The  fevered  world's  physician 
For  all  the  ills  of  man ; 

His  poems  one  petition 
Dim,  wild,  Utopian: 

"  The  lamb  would  with  the  lion 
Soon  share  a  mutual  rest, 

And  man  would  live  and  die  on 
His  brother  mortal's  breast, 

Millennium  and  Zion 

Would  be  unto  the  blest. 


io8  REVELATION. 


"  The  sun  would  soon  be  shining 
Abroad  the  promised  morn " 

My  heart  of  hearts,  divining, 
With  sudden  doubt  was  torn; 

A  weeping,  wailing,  whining 
Across  the  world  was  borne. 

A  strange  faint  sound  in  wonder 

From  earth  to  ether  rose ; 
It  cleft  the  air  insunder! 

That  sharpening  of  the  hoes ! 
Yea,  stones  on  stones  with  thunder 

Shook  the  empurpled  foes. 

Black  loomed  the  hills  supernal, 
While  rosy  grew  the  sky — 

"  Behold,  Love's  dawn  eternal !  " 
The  prophet  made  outcry. 

The  heavens  flamed  infernal, 
The  red  clouds  burned  on  high. 

A  silence  iron-handed 

Held  Earth's  cowed  millions  dumb. 
Up  clomb  an  orb  commanded 

By  Hell — whence  it  had  come. 
A  skull !    With  one  word  branded 

Its  brow—"  MILLENNIUM." 


BELLOMANIACS.  109 


BELLOMANIACS. 

War !  War !  the  foam-flecked  mongrels  of  the  press 

Yell  at  the  waving  of  a  foreign  plume. 
They  know,  the  dogs,  with  glory  they  may  dress 

Their  lazar  shapes  upon  their  country's  doom — 
For  War,  though  won,  is  doom !    O,  see  where  caught, 

The  gore-splashed,  lying  journal- jackal  thrives! — 
Feeding  the  rolling  presses'  Juggernaut 

Widows'  and  mothers'  hearts  and  brave  men's  lives. 


no  RUDYARD  KIPLING. 


RUDYARD    KIPLING. 

False  to  the  poet's  purpose  high,  in  vain 
Craves  he  admittance  to  their  golden  fane, — 
Juggler  and  jongleur,  whose  vulgarian  muse 
Roars  from  her  narrow  heart  her  rank  abuse ! 
Who  never  Beauty  knew  and  never  Wit, 
Who  beats  the  drums  for  Truth — while  beating  it. 
Renown  shall  with  a  sponge  erase  his  name 
Where  on  her  walls  he  chalked  it — to  their  shame. 

1903. 


THE  SNOB.  in 


THE    SNOB. 

Our  land 's  foul  slander,  you !  whose  helot  eyes 
Worship  the  shallow  shows  we  most  despise, 
Things  that  true  Yankee-men  were  born  to  hate, 
But  most  your  simian  lust  for  English  state; 
Thing  of  a  breed  unknown,  but  less  'than  man, 
You  dare  to  call  yourself  American! 
Whether  your  now  degenerate  stock  was  sown, 
Far  from  its  parent  shore,  on  Plymouth's  own, 
Or  from  some  needy  wanderer's  sturdy  blood, 
Stagnated  to  its  present  state  of  mud, 
Or  shipped  in  convict  cargoes  o'er  the  sea, 
To  till  Virginia's  fields, — 't  is  one  to  me, — 
Your  beggar's  or  your  felon's  blood  dare  claim 
Alas,  our  country's  earth  and  all  its  name! 
At  later  alien  bands  you  sneer  and  flout, 
And,  being  in  yourself,  cry:   Keep  them  out! 
You,  who  a  free  American  professed, 
Blazon  on  vulgar  walls  a  senseless  crest, 
Bought  of  escutcheon-mongers  with  your  gold, — 
(To  deck  such  asses'  ears  such  things  are  sold)  ; 
Gold,  which  the  Fates  and  a  rich  father  gave, — 
The  first  to  turn  the  second  in  his  grave, — 
Gold,  that  has  made  your  worthless  life  more  light, 


ii2  THE  SNOB. 


Curse  of  the  Commonwealth,  leech,  parasite ! 
Whose  back  none  other  labor  knows  than  that 
Of  rubbing  smooth  the  chairs  whereon  you  sat. 
The  leopard  shall  not  lose  his  spots — his  load 
Of  hump  the  camel — nor  his  warts  the  toad, — 
Nor  grows  the  snob  and  flunky  unexempt 
From  physic  marks  of  feature, — and  contempt 
Of  honorable  men.    The  smirked  grimace, 
The  high  falsetto  titter  and  the  face 
With  in-drawn  lip,  the  up-screwed  eyes  and  nose, 
The  parrot  stock  of  speech, — the  strut,  the  pose, — 
Such  are  the  signs  that  Nature  sets  to  mock 
The  rank  decadence  of  her  basest  stock. 
So,  done  at  last!    the  scornful  muse  refrains 
Further  to  flay  the  nude  thing  that  remains, 
Washes  her  hands  defiled  in  water  clear, 
And  wipes  her  sandal-soles  upon  your  rear. 
Away !   since  even  snobs  must  have  their  due, 
She  plants  a  kick  upon  your  greater  you. 


TO  A  SHAMELESS  BARD.  113 


TO   A    SHAMELESS    BARD. 

You  have  debased  the  poet's  sacred  art, 

And  sown  with  lying  hate  your  darkest  shame ; 

Your  name  shall  be  a  jeer- word  in  the  mart 
Where  you  for  dole  of  dollars  sold  your  fame ! 


ii4  MADE  IN  AMERICA. 


MADE    IN    AMERICA. 

Come,  let  us  make  a  dozen  score  of  heroes ; 
Each  yearning  niche  of  Fame  yells  out  aloud, — 
Our  pedestals  unstatued — are  we  zeros 
To  stand  behind  that  European  crowd  ? 
We,  who  have  gold  to  buy  the  beggars  wholly, 
Shall  we  not  have  our  heroes  and  great  men  ? 
We,  who  monopolize  all  good  things  solely, 
Shall  yield  the  palm  to  others  ?   Never !   Then 
Come,  let  us  have  our  heroes,  have  them  quickly ; 
Make  them  of  paper,  sawdust,  tin  or  rag; — 
Here,  all  you  slavering  journals,  coat  them  thickly 
With  smart  veneer  of  Hail  Columbia  brag! 
Heroes  civilian,  heroes  military 
That  shall  out-tale  the  Vallambrosan  leaves, 
Heroes  of  sans-culottes  like  Tom  and  Jerry, 
Heroes  of  politicians,  chap-men,  thieves. 
Heroes  of  mighty  mouths  like  boaster  Dewey, 
Who,  with  enormous  waste  of  powder  sunk 
Defenseless  Spanish  hulks — how  loudly  blew  he 
His  braggart  note  o'er  every  foundered  junk! 
Nor  must  our  haughty-stepping  dames  be  slighted, — 
Let  us  have  female  heroes,  so  the  breed 
Of  our  heroic  hearts  be  expedited, 
Rearing  a  race  of  Jasons  from  our  seed. 


MADE  IN  AMERICA.  115 

They  say  we  have  few  great  men — scarcely  any, 

Who  are  the  greatest  people  and  the  best; — 

We  have  not  many  great,  but  a  great  many 

Poets  and  statesmen,  soldiers  and  the  rest. 

They  say  we  have  no  heroes, — let  us  make  some! 

They  say  we  have  no  great  men, — let  us  "  fake  "  some ! 


n6  "IL  DECHIRE  LES  PAPERASSES.' 


"IL   DECHIRE    LES    PAPERASSES." 

Paperasses,  happy  word ! 
Though  in  English  never  heard, 
Word  that  from  thy  parent  French, 
I  into  our  tongue  would  wrench. 
Aptest  word!  thou  shouldst  describe 
Blockheads  of  a  certain  tribe, 
And  with  but  the  prefix  "  news," 
Scourge  and  brand  a  foul  abuse. 
Though  the  Gauls  may  need  thee  too,  — - 
Here 's  Herculean  work  to  do ! 
Hark !  what  squalling  notes  of  fear 
Strike  on  the  expectant  ear! — 
Paperasses!  do  not  blench, 
For  the  word  is  safely  French. 


LINES  ON  A  DEAD  DOG.  117 


LINES    ON   A   DEAD   DOG. 

(Lying  on  the  City  Hall  Steps,  Anno  1894.) 

Poor  Cerberus  !  thy  death  befell 

Here  'gainst  the  sullen  gates  of  Hell. 

None  pities  thee  nor  heaves  a  sigh ; 

Each  holds  his  nose  and  hurries  by. 

Rulers  and  rogues  politely  greet, 

Yet  scorn  the  brother  at  their  feet. 

O,  would  that  thou  wert  hung  where  oft 

The  spangled  banner  flaps  aloft ; 

High  in  the  eagle's  thrilling  home, 

Above  the  Hall,  above  the  Dome ! 

A  happy  symbol,  thou,  to  show 

The  nature  of  the  things  below, — 

Thy  body,  bursting  from  its  sheath, — 

The  body  politic  beneath, 

Whose  rank  corruption  like  thine  own, 

Through  all  its  length  and  breadth  is  sown 

Both  feed  their  swarms  of  worthless  flies 

And  both  are  stinking  to  the  skies. 


ii8  ELECTION  TIME. 


ELECTION    TIME. 

Now  hand  to  hand  and  face  to  face, 

The  parties  strive  to  win ; 
These  to  turn  rascals  out  of  place, 

And  these  to  turn  them  in. 
Those  who  entered  lean  as  kine 
Issue  now  as  fat  as  swine ; 
Whom  we  put  aperch  as  chicks, 
As  glutted  vultures  quit  the  sticks. 
But  through  the  streets  all  yell — for  yell  they  must 
"A  public  office  is  a  public  trust ! " 


MANIKIN  AND  MAIDKIN.  119 


MANIKIN    AND    MAIDKIN. 

A  manikin  met  a  maidkin  fair; — 

She  lured  him  with  her  eyes. 
The  manikin  followed  here  and  there — 

O  manikin  be  wise ! 

Beware,  thou  manikin,  of  sin; — 

•Those  eyes  are  gins  and  pits, 
The  devil  lurks  and  waits  within: — 
Beware  thy  fragile  wits ! 

"  O  maidkin  fair,  I  love  thee  well," 

The  manikin  did  say, 
"  I  love  thee  more  than  tongue  can  tell ! " 

The  maidkin  laughed  away. 

She  led  him  here,  she  led  him  there, 

She  led  him  by  the  nose, 
And,  haltered  with  a  single  hair, 

He  follows  where  she  goes. 

Came  by  another  manikin, 

The  maidkin  was  undone, 
She  spread  her  nets  his  heart  to  win 

And  let  the  first  one  run. 


120  MANIKIN  AND  MAIDKIN. 

And  he  with  sulphur,  nitre,  lead 

Blew  all  his  skull  to  bits ! 
'T  was  lead  to  lead — within  that  head 

Was  room — but  none  for  wits. 

Manikin,  manikin,  manikin  small, 

O,  sad  thy  history! 
'T  was  ever  thus  with  one  and  all, 
With  old  and  young  and  great  and  small, 

Was,  is,  and  still  shall  be ! 


ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  "  PUNCH."      121 


ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  "  PUNCH." 

Weep,  ye  whose  tears  must  unavailing  flow, 
Struck  with  the  ruthless  fate  of  all  below, 
A  fate  so  common,  unannounced  and  sure 
Which  all  who  breathe  or  bark  at  last  endure. 
Weep,  and  unpen  the  channels  of  your  eyes 
O'  er  yon  beloved  shape  that  lowly  lies, 
O'er  him  that  unavailing  love  hath  lost, 
Love  kneeling  by  those  paws  so  gently  crossed. 

Ye  mighty  hills  and  forests  filled  with  sound, 
Ye  ocean-combing  floods  with  whiteness  crowned, 
Swift  dryads  glistening  through  the  redwood  trees, 
And  fauns  and  feathered  things  that  sail  the  breeze, 
Weep,  like  yon  tristful  one  whose  woe-worn  head 
Now  pillows  on  a  cold  and  widowed  bed. 
Weep !   O,  what  freshet  tears  your  eyes  must  pour, 
For  Punch,  poor,  ancient  Punch,  is  now  no  more ! 
Gone !  gone ! — for  that  too  peerless  canine  weep, 
Gone  to  profoundest,  everlasting  sleep! 
Too  soon,  ah,  far  too  soon  Atropos  sheared 
His  thinning  thread  of  Life — and  Death  appeared, 
Nor  could  that  feeble  bark  affright  the  grim, 
Implacable,  dread  shape  that  conquered  him. 


122      ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  "  PUNCH." 

Yet,  like  a  being  of  celestial  birth, 
He  first  endured  his  martyrdom  on  Earth, 
Until  his  mistress'  hand,  when  all  was  vain, 
Gave  him  swift  coup  de  grace  to  end  his  pain. 
Then  sped  his  spirit  to  the  thrones  of  light 
But  left  within  her  heart  eternal  night. 

Alas,  each  swelling  sob  my  utterance  chokes, 
How  the  sad  drench  of  tears  my  own  provokes ! 
Hence,  vengeful  furies  with  red  eyes  of  coal, 
Never  of  this  dear  dog  be  yours  the  soul ! 
Though  Pluto  thunder  from  his  realm  profound — 
Or  furious  Ate  make  the  world  resound — 
Or  grim  and  mighty  Rhadamanthus  throw 
His  trident  on  Hell's  fuming  floor  below — 
Or  foaming  Cerberus  with  horrent  hair, 
Dread  brother !  sally  barking  from  his  lair — 
Or  Charon,  venerable  and  gloomy  man, 
Wait  for  that  well-beloved  black-and-tan 
Whose  spirit,  curled  beside  the  Olympian  throne, 
Hath  found  a  milder  world  than  this  our  own. 

O,  ne'er  again  across  Bohemia's  floor 
Shall  Punch  obey  the  finger  of  our  Thor, 
Never  again  the  outstretched  hand  shall  bite 
Wherewith  the  Laureate  this  dirge  must  write — 
Whiles  widowed  Judy  whimpers  in  the  grove, 
Robbed  of  the  chaste  delights  of  canine  love. 


ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  "  PUNCH."      123 

But,  long  as  stars  and  planets  gem  the  sky, 
Long  as  yon  flaming  orb  is  rolled  on  high, 
Long  as  endures  the  Earth  within  her  frame 
Shall  live,  shall  flourish  Punch's  glorious  name, 
Safe  from  the  tooth  of  Time,  his  bright,  perennial  fame. 


124  ST.  PATRICK'S  DAY,  1900. 


ST.  PATRICK'S    DAY,  1900. 

If  I  were  the  good  Saint  Patrick, 
And  not  a  poor  devil  in  sin, 

This  were  the  day — this  were  the  way 
My  labors  would  begin. 

For  I  would  look  across  the  land 

From  sea  to  a  sister  sea, 
And  then  would  grasp  in  either  hand 
A  pen  that  flamed  like  Michael's  brand, 

Far,  fierce  and  terribly. 

One  foot  would  rest  within  the  West ; 

The  other  in  the  East. 
I  'd  cry  to  God :  "  Thou  knowest  best, 
Call  kites  and  vultures — Thy  behest 

Mine  office — theirs  the  feast." 

Then  might  ye  cry  to  see  the  map 

Of  our  country  turn  a-green 
With  serpents  wriggling  from  her  lap, 
Pell-mell  beneath  the  thunder-clap, 
Beneath  the  lightning-sheen. 


ST.  PATRICK'S  DAY,  1900.  125 

Out  from  the  halls  of  the  Capitol  steep — 

Defiled  with  shame  and  slime, 
The  reptile  race  I  'd  drive — I  'd  sweep 
The  place  of  all  the  things  that  creep, 

For  once  and  for  all  time. 

Out  from  the  offices,  out  from  the  press, 

Out  from  many  a  steeple, 
Out  from  the  courts  and  the  schools ;  no  less 
Millions  of  snakes  from  the  vast  excess 

Alive  in  the  hearts  of  the  people ! 

Out  from  the  cities,  serpent-stuffed, 

Out  from  their  teeming  fens, 
Rattlers  and  vipers  and  adders  puffed, 
Hypocrites  blue  with  the  skins  they  sloughed, 

By  thousands  and  by  tens. 

Each  road  should  form  a  giant  snake 

Of  snakes — a  frenzied  flood ! 
To  every  sea,  to  every  lake 
A-hiss  the  maddened  mob  would  take 

Its  poisoned  path  of  mud. 

No  wriggler  would  be  left  alive 

Once  more  its  race  to  start; 
Nay,  not  a  serpent  should  survive 
Save  beautiful  little  snakes  that  thrive 

In  the  Eden  of  woman's  heart. 


126  ST.  PATRICK'S  DAY,  1900. 

Then  would  I  stand  athwart  the  land, 

Bowed  o'er  my  iron  pen ; 
Turned  to  stone  where  I  took  my  stand 
Yet  with  open  eye  and  ready  hand, 

Lest  those  serpents  breed  again. 

So,  if  I  were  the  good  Saint  Patrick, 
And  not  a  poor  devil  in  sin, 

This  were  the  day — this  were  the  way 
My  labors  would  begin ! 


LATRONA  STREET.  127 


LATRONA    STREET. 

Where  holes  and  dens  in  countless  numbers  lie, 
And  dismal  nooks  and  corners  pain  the  eye, 
Where  scarce  is  room  to  move  my  cautious  feet, 
Surely,  I  walk  along  Latrona  street! 
Each  wind  that  through  the  impested  region  blows, 
Conveys  infection  to  my  helpless  nose. 
Fried  fish  and  steaks  their  fragrances  combine, 
While  laundered  flannels  steaming  on  the  line, 
And  stables  militant  the  reek  refine. 
The  sluttish  housewives  with  disordered  hair, 
Exploit  the  passing  stranger  with  a  stare, 
Or  else  in  groups  about  the  steps  are  strung, 
And  scandal's  venom  drips  from  every  tongue. 
The  walks,  like  styes,  with  slops  are  littered  round. 
With  easy  search  a  dog  deceased  is  found. 
There  scraps  of  meat  refresh  a  thousand  flies, 
And  here  its  trade  a  rotten  herring  plies. 
Half-naked  brats  roll  screaming  in  the  dirt, 
And  twenty  mothers  fly  when  one  brat 's  hurt. 
The  hoodlum  swain,  in  trousers  tight  arrayed, 
Woos  with  a  speech  unclean  the  hoodlum  maid. 
Ten  ragged,  freckled  wenches — squalid  crowd! — 
Are  singing  South  Side  ditties  shrill  and  loud; 


128  LATRONA  STREET. 

And  where  Disease  asserts  her  household  reign, 
A  yellow  face  is  pressed  against  each  pane. 
Through  broken  doors  't  is  shown  beyond  a  doubt, 
The  inside  is  as  filthy  as  the  out. 
I  turn  me  now,  with  solemn  step  and  slow, 
And  from  this  scene  of  dreadful  squalor  go. 
Farewell,  foul  street,  and  all  that  reeks  of  thee — 
Thy  crimes,  thy  sorrows  and  thy  poverty ! 

1893. 


POEMS  IN   THE 
SPIRIT    OF   POE 


POE.  131 


POE. 

Unto  the  swing  and  silence  of  great  stars, 

Deep-chambered  in  the  realms  mysterious 

Of  the  dusk  fays  that  dream,  thy  breath  was  born, — 

Thou,  who  with  calm  brow  and  marmoreal  pale, 

Musest,  forever  throned  supreme !    Supreme, — 

'Midst  the  all-kingliest  stars,  a  rushing  orb, 

Eternal,  vast,  undimmed,  out-traversing  Heaven 

With  fiercer  lustre-splendor  and  with  song 

Far  wilder  whirling  than  thy  brother  suns 

That  gem  Fame's  zodiac — who  counts  not  thee? 

Songs  that  the  wide-winged  seraphs  spake  from  out 

Thy  lips, — to  marble  have  they  grown,  as  wan, 

As  whitely-pale  as  pearl,  as  rich,  as  rare, 

Those  hewn,  melodious,  immortalities — 

So  few,  hoarded,  yet  few !    Thy  sojourn  dark 

On  Earth  was  martyrdom  that  held  no  ray 

In  the  dim,  desolate  air  of  her  low  plains, 

Sunless  for  thee,  save  where  thy  spirit  burst 

The  nether  night  unlifted  and  thy  brow 

Gave  again  to  the  o'er-taught  world  the  great 

Reflex  of  Beauty's  face.    Thee  Loveliness 

Loved ;  gave  thee  her  blossoms  and  blown  flowers 

Which  decked  thy  altars  fair,  as  his  were  decked 


132  POE. 

In  Delphos'  oracle  old,  Phoebus,  prophetic  priest 
Of  Beauty,  as  wast  thou,  whom  shall  no  death 
E'er  darken  or  invade.     No  more  enchain 
Thy  music's  spells  these  regions  reft  of  thee, 
Who,  through  abysmal,  undivulging  nought, 
Speakest  from  shadowy  shores  with  all  the  great, 
One  hollow  word's  sad  rolling,  "  Nevermore." 
Nevermore !  to  the  infant  muse  that  stirred 
My  youngest  veins  attuned,  more  dead  of  hope 
That  sound  than  terrible  Death!    I  gave  it  not 
Surrender,  but  many  a  night  laborious 
After  laborious  day,  all  humbly  through 
Thy  towering  and  thy  star-wrought  golden  fanes 
Of  frozen  or  of  fiery  dreams  searched  ever 
For  what  had  made  thy  thought  a  light  of  lights, 
For  what  was  secret  of  thy  music  vast 
And  weird,  for  what  was  root  of  all  thy  lore. 
Search  that  could  scarce  succeed,  in  vain !  in  vain ! — 
Ever  the  echoes  whisper :  "  Nevermore  " 
Through  past,  through  present  and  through   future 
years ! 

Here  have  I  bound  a  lowly  chaplet  up 
Of  flowers  few  and  slightest,  grown  from  soil 
Once  nourishing  noblest  trees — for  me  to  lay 
Even  this  on  thy  thrice-hallowed  tomb,  enough 
Of  honor,  and  my  labor's  meed  too  large. 


THE  SEA  OF  SERENITY.  133 


THE    SEA    OF    SERENITY. 

I. 
From  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon, 

O'er  her  silent,  silver  valleys, 
Lit  by  Earth-light  soft  in  June, 

And  Aurora  Borealis, 
I  and  Isabel  the  saintly, 

Mute  upon  the  mountain's  top, 
Listened  to  the  sweet  dews  faintly 

Into  nether  caverns  drop. 

II. 

And  we  spoke  not  and  we  moved  not 

In  our  musing  melancholy; 
Deep  we  loved,  but,  ah !  we  loved  not 

As  they  love  in  worlds  unholy. 
There  the  Earth  hung  full  and  golden 

O'er  our  planet's  pallid  plain, 
And  all  memories  of  the  olden 

Days  of  Earth  swam  back  again. 

III. 

With  a  soft,  a  sad  insistence, 
Flowed  a  stream  of  melody 


134  THE  SEA  OF  SERENITY. 


Through  the  ether,  through  the  distance, 

Flowed  for  Isabel  and  me. 
Through  the  zenith  whirled  the  white, 

Green  and  purple,  opalescent, 
Blue  and  crimson  suns  whose  light 

Bathed  the  nadir,  iridescent. 

IV. 

Many  million  triple  suns, 

Violet  and  lilac,  burning 
Where  the  crystal  zodiac  runs, 

On  its  golden  axis  turning. 
Brighter  than  the  flames  of  Endor 

Glowed  the  ruby  sphere  terrestrial, 
With  a  nimbus  crowned  of  splendor 

All  seraphic  and  celestial. 

V. 

O'er  her  scintillating  face 

Rushed  a  mad  and  radiant  river ; 
O'er  the  poles  it  poured  its  race 

Where  tormented  torches  quiver. 
Oh !  their  spiral  tongues  unending 

Like  the  mines  of  Ophir  burned, 
To  a  liquid  lustre  blending 

As  their  jeweled  globe  was  turned. 


THE  SEA  OF  SERENITY.  135 

VI. 

Then  I  glanced  at  her  beside  me 

With  the  glory  in  her  eye, 
Deep  I  sighed,  for  words  denied  me — 

Deep  we  sighed,  yet  knew  not  why. 
Spoke  the  Sibyl  of  the  Utter 

Silence,  with  her  waving  wings, 
With  her  shadow  wings  that  flutter 

Over  all  Unfathomed  Things : 

VII. 

"  Yonder  star  whose  lustre  lonely, 

Tinted  like  the  Triton's  horn, 
Seems  a  sun — its  flames  are  only 

Flames  of  human  passions  born. 
Love  and  Life — the  Thoughts  that  ever 

Burn  within  the  mortal  breast, 
Flames  which  shall  not  die,  oh,  never 

Shall  they  die  and  never  rest ! 

VIII. 

"  Till  yon  globe  shall  burn  to  ashes — 

Like  this  icy  orb  decrease 
Cold  and  dark — with  love  she  flashes — 

Love  till  all  that  is  shall  cease." 


136  THE  SEA  OF  SERENITY. 

Thus  the  Sibyl — swift  our  planet 
Rushed  into  a  vast  eclipse, 

And  a  shadow  overran  it, 

And  the  Night  lay  on  our  lips. 

But  our  lips  re-echoed  slowly, 
In  that  Universal  Peace, 

Lowly,  slowly,  softly,  holy — 

"  Love  till  all  that  is  shall  cease." 

1893- 


INTROSPECTION.  137 


INTROSPECTION. 

In  the  palpable  dead  night, 
In  the  still,  the  stellar  light, 
When  the  hours,  like  pilgrims  slow,  creep  into  the 

Long  Ago — 

From  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow,  many  a  vision  black 
or  white 

Comes  to  haunt  me, 
Comes  to  daunt  me, 
Garbed  in  shapes  I  knew  or  know. 

Would  they  sought  a  season  fitter — O,  the  dreary, 

dreary,  bitter 

Years  and  tears,  tears  and  years, 
Years  of  burning,  bitter  tears 

That  have  bowed  down  Earth  with  woe,  that  with  woe 
have  bowed  her  low ! 

And  our  misery  and  pain 
Is  to  think  that  ne'er  again 

Shall  the  heart  of  Earth  cease  grieving,  leaving  all 
that  grieves  it  so. 


i38  INTROSPECTION. 

When  the  symphony  of  spheres — 
(He  shall  bless  them — he  who  hears) 
Organ-like  of  cosmic  woes,  sing — I  listen  unto  those 
Strains  at  midnight  that  enrapture  each  exalted  soul 
that  hears 
Unregretting, 
Earth  forgetting, 
Though  like  sister  stars  she  glows; 

Though    she   glows   with   wildest,    parti-colored 

flames  like  fair  Astarte, 
With  the  brilliant  passion-fire 
Of  a  burning  world's  desire, 

With  the  lambent  flame  that  blows  blazing  fiercely 
from  the  throes 

Of  brave  hearts  in  passion  tost, 
Of  the  weak,  the  helpless  lost 

In  the  world's  rash  race  contending,  ending  when  to 
wreck  it  goes. 


INTROSPECTION.  139 


Under  the  translucent  horn 
Of  the  mirrored  moon  I  mourn 
In  the  deep  night,  till  the  day,  takes  her  gentle  ray 

away, 

On  the  Past  so  dimly  distant.  And  the  future's  Stygian 
bourn 

Now  appals  me, 
Now  enthralls  me 
With  its  terrors  vast  and  gray. 

For  in  sadness  still  and  sorrow,  comes  repeatedly 

to-morrow 

With  thoughts  that  cannot  die, 
With  sighs  that  ask  us :  Why  ? 

O'er  lost  joys  of  yesterday — ah,  how  fair,  how  blest 
were  they ! 

And  within  these  eyes  of  mine 
They  shall  flow  and  they  shall  shine 
With  a  glory  all  undying,  flying  as  it  seems  to-day. 

1893. 


I4o  THE  ISLE  OF  THE  DEAD. 


THE    ISLE   OF   THE    DEAD. 

In  the  desert  floods  horrific, 
Where  no  star  shines  beatific, 

Lies  an  island  that  uprises  gray  from  out  the  murmur- 
ing tides. 
There  it  lies,  close  by  that  region  where  the  weary, 

weary  Ocean, 
Like  some  cataract  that  floweth  o'er  some  precipice's 

sides, 
Flows  forever  and  forever  down  the  hoar  Antarctic 

pole, 
To  Earth's  heart  by  moaning,  dead  winds  led  along 

in  swiftest  motion, 

Flowing,  falling  as  dark  fancies  fall  and  flow  o'er  thee, 
my  soul. 

There  the  sun  lies  dead  forever, 
Wrapt  in  clouds  no  sun  could  sever, 
Never   part   the   bleak,    funereal,    o'erhanging   vapor 

palls, 
And  the  Spirit  of  All-Silence,  breathing  deep  beneath 

the  waters, 

Lifts  and  sinks  the  sable  surges  as  they  lap  the  granite 
walls. 


THE  ISLE  OF  THE  DEAD.  141 

There  dwell  phantoms  vast  whose  faces  watch  in  dun- 
gray  mists  the  while, 
And   two   guardian   ghosts — two   sisters,    Peace   and 

Death — the  only  daughters 
Of  that  Universal  Silence  brooding  o'er  that  haunted 

Isle. 

And  that  island  forms  a  crescent, 
Stilly  cove  where  the  incessant, 
Shifting  surges  lie  in  melancholy  contemplation  still, 
'Neath  the  spell  and  scent  of  cypress  sentinels  and 

mandragora, 
Its  smooth  face  reflecting  whitely  marble  walls  built 

in  the  hill, 
Ancient  walls  of  milky  marble,  mossy  tombs  hewn  in 

the  stone. 
From  the  cliffs  Lethean  lilies  breathe  a  dull,  lethargic 

aura, — 
Ah,  these  eyes  wept  as  those  lilies  weep — these  eyes 

wept  not  alone! 

Like  the  heart-beat  of  my  saintly 
Loved  one,  now  an  oar  beats  faintly. 
'T  is  a  black-draped  barge  comes  gliding,  sliding  o'er 

the  unsailed  sea, 
With  a  muffled,  masked  rower  and  the  form  of  Grief, 

who,  weeping, 
Standeth  o'er  a  velvet  casket  as  she  prayeth  ceaselessly. 


142  THE  ISLE  OF  THE  DEAD. 

Tell,  what  prayers  need  there  be  said,  woman,  o'er 

that  blessed  head? 
Slowly,  slowly  she  comes  creeping  to  the  tomb  where 

I  was  sleeping 
Seven  centuries  and  cycles  in  the  Island  of  the  Dead. 

1894- 


PACIFIC.  143 


PACIFIC. 

Often  we  walked  by  the  water 

Of  that  weird,  wonderful  sea, 
I  and  the  skipper's  fair  daughter — 

Fair  as  a  flower  was  she ! 

Doubting  how  sorrow  could  be, 
I  and  the  skipper's  pale  daughter 

Strolled  to  the  sound  of  the  sea. 

Clouds  in  the  heavens  seemed  mountains, 
And  mountains  smiled  over  the  land; 

By  Ocean  of  many-mouthed  fountains 

We  loved  and  we  dreamed  and  we  planned 
All  the  life  we  could  not  understand — 

And  the  vari-hued  mountains  and  fountains 
Were  ours  in  that  magical  land. 


144  PACIFIC. 


O,  child  of  the  skipper!  if  only 

The  mountains  and  fountains  no  more 
Drew  me  back  where  that  ocean  so  lonely 

Still  mourns  on  its  desolate  shore ! 

But  my  heart  bears  the  sorrow  it  bors 
When  we  laid  thee,  beloved,  all  lonely 

Where  thou  hearest  the  sea-voice  no  more. 

1895. 


04 


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